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[See  page  4S 


"l'M    CLAUDE.      DON'T   YOU    REMEMBER   ME?" 


THE  SIDE 
OF  THE  ANGELS 


A    NOVEL 
BY 

Basil  king 

AUTHOR   OF 

The  Inner  Shrine 


illustrated  by 
Elizabeth  Shippen  Green 


lC- 


A\Q 


HARPER  y  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


The  Side  of  the  Angels 


Copyright.  1915,  1916,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  February,  1016 

B-Q 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"I'm  Claude.  Don't  You  Remember  Me?"  .  .  .  Frontispiece 
Pausing  in  Her  Work,  the  Girl  Looked  Down  the 

Half-length  of  the  Greenhouse,  as  a  Hint 

for  Him  to  Advance       Facing  p.  12 

She  was  Smiling  with  an  Air  at  Once  Intimate  and 

Triumphant 62 

"I  Don't  Want  to  Part  You.    I  Want  to  Bring 

You  Together" "       118 

Like  a  Stricken  Animal  behind  the  Thick  Screen 

of  Leaves 208 

"Would  You  be  Happy  with  Him  if  He  Came  Back?"  "  234 
"We've  Got  Our  Own  Problems  to  Solve,  Haven't 

We?" "       256 

"Thor  is  Always  on  the  Side  of  the  Angels"   .      "       298 


THE   SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 


2130535 


THE  SIDE  OF  THE  ANGELS 


"My  lord,  I  am  on  the  side  of  the  angels." — Disraeli. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  difficulty  was,  in  the  first  place,  one  of  date — 
not  the  date  of  a  month  or  a  year,  but  of  a  generation 
or  a  century.  Had  Thorley  Masterman  found ,  himself 
in  love  with  Rosie  Fay  in  1760,  or  even  in  i860,  there 
would  have  been  little  to  adjust  and  nothing  to  gainsay. 
In  i860  the  Fays  were  still  as  good  as  the  Thorleys,  and 
almost  as  good  as  the  Mastermans.  Going  back  as  far 
as  1760,  the  Fays  might  have  been  considered  better  than 
the  Thorleys  had  the  village  acknowledged  standards  of 
comparison,  while  there  were  no  Mastermans  at  all.  That 
is,  in  1760  the  Mastermans  still  kept  their  status  as  yeo- 
men, clergymen,  and  country  doctors  among  the  hills  of 
Derbyshire,  untroubled  as  yet  by  that  spirit  of  unrest  for 
conscience'  sake  which  had  urged  the  Fays  and  the  Thor- 
leys out  of  the  flat  farmlands  of  East  Anglia  one  hundred 
and  thirty  years  before. 

During  the  intervening  period  the  flat  farmlands  re- 
mained only  as  an  equalizing  symbol.  Thorleys,  Fays, 
Willoughbys,  and  Brands  worked  for  one  another  with  the 
community  of  interests  developed  in  a  beehive,  and  inter- 
married.    If  from  the  process  of  intermarriage  the  Fays 

1 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

were,  on  the  whole,  excluded,  the  discrimination  lay  in 
some  obscure  instinct  for  affinity  of  which  no  one  at  the 
time  was  able  to  forecast  the  significance. 

But  by  19 1  o  there  was  a  difference,  the  difference 
apparent  when  out  of  the  flat  farmlands  seismic  explosion 
has  thrown  up  a  range  of  mountain  peaks.  For  the  ex- 
pansion of  the  country  which  the  middle  nineteenth  cen- 
tury had  wrought,  the  Thorleys,  Mastermans,  Willough- 
bys,  and  Brands  had  been  on  the  alert,  with  eyes  watchful 
and  calculations  timed.  The  Fays,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
gone  on  with  the  round  of  seed-time  and  harvest,  contented 
and  almost  somnolent,  awakening  to  find  that  the  ages 
had  been  giving  them  the  chances  that  would  never 
come  again.  It  was  across  the  wreck  of  those  chances, 
and  across  some  other  obstacles  besides,  that  Thorley 
Masterman,  for  the  first  time  since  childhood,  looked  into 
the  gray-green  eyes  of  Rosie  Fay  and  got  the  thrill  of  their 
wide-open,  earnest  beauty. 

He  was  then  not  far  from  thirty  years  of  age,  having 
studied  at  a  great  American  university,  in  Paris,  Berlin, 
and  Vienna,  and  obtained  other  sorts  of  knowledge  of 
mankind.  He  knew  Rosie  Fay,  in  this  secondary,  grown- 
up phase  of  their  acquaintance,  as  the  daughter  of  his 
first  patient,  and  he  had  obtained  his  first  patient  through 
the  kindly  intervention  of  Uncle  Sim.  From  February  to 
November,  19 10,  his  "shingle"  had  hung  in  one  of  the 
two  streets  of  the  village  without  attracting  a  patient  at 
all.  He  had  already  begun  to  feel  his  position  a  trial 
when  his  half-brother's  daily  jest  turned  it  into  a  hu- 
miliation. 

"Must  be  serious  matter,  Thor,"  Claude  would  say, 
"to  be  responsible  for  so  many  valuable  lives." 

Mr.  Leonard  Willoughby,  his  father's  partner  in  the  old 
"banking-and-broking"  house  of  Toogood  &  Masterman, 
enjoyed  the  same  sort  of  chaff.  "Looking  pale,  Thor. 
Must  be  working  too  hard." 

"Never  mind,   Thor,"    Mrs.    Willoughby   would   en- 

2 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

courage  him.  "When  I'm  ill  you  shall  get  me — but  then 
I'm  never  ill." 

At  such  minutes  her  daughter  Lois  could  only  smile 
sympathetically  and  talk  hurriedly  of  something  else.  As 
he  had  meant  since  boyhood  to  marry  Lois  Willoughby 
when  the  moment  for  marriage  came,  Thor  counted  this 
tactfulness  in  her  favor. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  puzzled.  Having  disregarded  his 
future  possession  of  money  and  prepared  himself  for  a 
useful  career  with  all  the  thoroughness  he  could  com- 
mand, nobody  seemed  to  want  him.  It  was  not  that  the 
village  was  over-provided  with  doctors.  Every  one 
admitted  that  it  wasn't — otherwise  he  would  not  have 
settled  in  his  native  place.  The  village  being  really  a 
township  with  a  scattered  population — except  on  the 
Thorley  estate,  which  was  practically  part  of  a  great  New 
England  city,  where  there  were  rows  of  suburban  streets — 
it  was  quite  insufficiently  served  by  Dr.  Noonan  at  one 
end  and  Dr.  Hill  at  the  other,  for  Uncle  Sim  in  the  Old 
Village  could  scarcely  be  said  to  count.  No;  the  opening 
was  good  enough.  The  trouble  lay,  apparently,  in  Thor- 
ley Masterman  himself.  Making  all  allowances  for  the 
fact  that  a  young  physician  must  wait  patiently,  and  win 
his  position  by  degrees,  he  had  reason  to  feel  chagrined. 
He  grew  ashamed  to  pass  the  little  house  in  the  Old 
Village  which  he  had  fitted  up  as  an  office.  He  grew 
ashamed  to  go  out  in  his  runabout. 

The  runabout  had  been  worse  than  an  extravagance, 
since,  on  the  ground  that  it  would  take  him  to  his  patients 
the  more  quickly,  he  had  felt  justified  in  borrowing  its 
price.  The  most  useful  purpose  it  served  now  was  to 
bring  Mr.  Willoughby  home  from  town  when  unfit  to 
come  by  himself.  Otherwise  its  owner  hated  taking  it 
out  of  the  garage,  especially  if  Claude  were  in  sight. 
Claude  had  envied  him  the  runabout  at  first,  but  soon 
found  a  way  to  work  his  feeling  off. 

"Anybody  dying,  old  chap?"  he  would  ask,  with  a 

3 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

curl  of  his  handsome  lip.  "Hope  you'll  get  to  him  in 
time." 

It  was  while  in  the  runabout,  however,  in  the  early- 
part  of  a  November  afternoon,  that  the  young  doctor 
met  his  uncle  Sim. 

"Hello,  Thor!"  the  latter  called.  "Where  you  off 
to?    Was  looking  for  you." 

Thor  brought  the  machine  to  a  standstill.  Uncle  Sim 
threw  a  long,  thin  leg  over  his  mare's  back  and  was  on 
the  ground.     "Whoa,  Delia,  whoa!    Good  old  girl!" 

He  liked  to  believe  that  the  tall  bay  was  spirited. 
Standing  beside  Thor's  runabout,  he  held  the  reins  loosely 
in  his  left  hand,  while  the  right  arm  was  thrown  caress- 
ingly over  Delia's  neck.  The  outward  and  visible  sign  of 
his  eccentricity  was  in  his  difference  from  every  one  else. 
In  a  community — one  might  say  a  country — in  which  each 
man  did  his  utmost  to  look  like  every  other  man,  the 
fact  that  Simeon  Masterman  was  willing  to  look  like  no 
one  but  himself  was  sufficient  to  prove  him,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  his  neighbors,  "a  little  off."  It  was  sometimes 
said  that  he  suggested  Don  Quixote — he  was  so  tall,  so 
gaunt,  and  so  eager-eyed — and,  except  that  there  was  no 
melancholy  in  his  face,  perhaps  he  did. 

"Got  a  job  for  you."  The  old  man's  voice  was  nasal 
and  harsh  without  being  disagreeable. 

Grown  sensitive,  Thor  was  on  his  guard.  "Not  one 
of  your  jobs  that  are  given  away  with  a  pound  of  tea?" 
he  said,  suspiciously. 

"I  don't  know  about  the  pound  of  tea— but  it's  given 
away.  Giving  it  away  because  I  can't  deal  with  it  myself. 
Calls  for  some  one  with  more  ingenuity — so  I've  told 
'em  about  you." 

Thor  laughed.  "Don't  wonder  you're  willing  to  give 
it  up,  Uncle  Sim." 

"You'll  wonder  still  less  when  you've  seen  the  patient. 
By  the  way,  it's  Fay's  wife.  'Member  old  Fay,  don't  you?" 

The  young  man  nodded.    "Used  to  be  Grandpa  Thor- 

4 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

ley's  gardener.  Has  the  greenhouses  on  father's  land 
north  of  the  pond.  Some  sort  of  row  going  on  between 
him  and  father  now.    What's  she  got?" 

"It's  not  what  she's  got,  poor  woman;  it's  what  she 
hasn't  got.    That's  what's  the  matter  with  her." 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  a  variety  of  symptom  I  never  heard  of." 

"No;  but  you'll  hear  of  it  soon.  Whoa,  Delia!  Steady! 
Good  girl!  If  you  can  treat  it  you'll  be  the  most  distin- 
guished specialist  in  the  country.  Whoa,  Delia!  I'm 
giving  you  the  chance  to  begin." 

Thor  wondered  what  was  at  the  back  of  the  old  fellow's 
mind.  There  was  generally  something  in  what  he  said  if 
you  could  think  it  out.  "Since  you've  diagnosed  the 
case,  Uncle  Sim — "  he  began,  craftily. 

"Can't  I  give  you  a  tip  for  the  treatment?  No,  I 
can't.  And  it  wouldn't  do  any  good  if  I  did,  because 
she  won't  take  my  medicine." 

"Perhaps  I  could  make  her." 

The  old  man  laughed  harshly.  "You!  That's  good. 
Why,  you'd  be  the  first  to  make  game  of  it  yourself."  • 

He  had  his  left  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  his  right  leg 
over  Delia's  back  before  Thor  could  formulate  another 
question.  As  with  head  thrown  back  he  continued  his 
amused  chuckling,  there  was  about  him,  in  spite  of  his 
sixty  years,  a  something  irresponsible  and  debonair  that 
would  have  pleased  Franz  Hals  or  Simon  de  Vos. 

Within  ten  minutes  Thor  was  knocking  at  the  door  of 
a  small  house  with  a  mansard  roof,  situated  in  what  had 
once  been  the  apple-orchard  of  a  farm.  All  but  a  sparse 
half-dozen  of  the  trees  had  given  place  to  lines  of  hot- 
houses, through  the  glass  of  which  he  could  see  oblongs 
of  vivid  green.  He  was  so  preoccupied  with  the  fact  of 
paying  his  first  visit  to  his  first  patient  as  scarcely  to 
notice  that  the  girl  who  opened  the  door  was  pretty.  He 
almost  ignored  her. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Fay?    I'm  Dr.  Thorley  Master- 

5 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

man.    I  believe  your  mother  would  like  to  see  me.    May 
I  go  to  her  at  once?" 

He  was  in  the  narrow  hallway  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  when  she  said:  "You  can  go  right  up.  But  perhaps 
I  ought  to  tell  you  that  she's  not — well,  she's  not  very 
sick." 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  getting  the  first  faint  im- 
pression of  her  beauty.    "What's  the  matter,  then?" 

"That's  what  we  don't  know."  After  a  second's  hesi- 
tation she  added,  "Perhaps  it's  melancholy."  Another 
second  passed  before  she  said,  "We've  had  a  good  deal 
of  trouble." 

The  tone  touched  him.  Her  way  of  holding  her  head, 
rather  meekly,  rather  proudly,  sufficiently  averted  to 
give  him  the  curve  of  the  cheek,  touched  him,  too.  "What 
kind  of  trouble?" 

"Oh,  every  kind.  But  she'll  tell  you  about  it  herself. 
It's  all  she'll  talk  about.  That's  why  we  can't  do  any- 
thing for  her — and  I  don't  believe  you  can." 

"I'd  better  see." 

Following  her  directions  given  from  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  he  entered  a  barely  furnished  bedroom  of  which 
two  sides  leaned  inward,  to  correspond  to  the  mansard 
grading  of  the  roof.  One  window  looked  out  on  the  green- 
houses, another  toward  Thorley's  Pond.  Beside  the 
former,  in  a  high,  upholstered  arm-chair,  sat  a  tall  woman, 
fully  dressed  in  black,  with  a  patchwork  quilt  of  many 
colors  across  her  knees.  In  spite  of  gray  hair  slightly 
disheveled,  and  wild  gray  eyes,  she  was  a  handsome 
woman  who  on  a  larger  scale  made  him  think  of  the  girl 
down-stairs. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Fay?"  he  began,  feeling  the 
burden  of  the  situation  to  be  on  himself.  "I'm  Dr. 
Thor— " 

"I  know  who  you  are,"  the  woman  said,  ungraciously. 
"If  you  hadn't  been  a  Masterman  I  shouldn't  have  sent 
for  you." 

6 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

He  took  a  small  chair,  drawing  it  up  beside  her.  "I 
know  you've  been  treated  by  my  uncle  Sim — " 

"He's  a  fool.  Tries  to  heal  a  broken  heart  by  feeding 
it  on  rainbows." 

Thor  smiled.  "That's  like  him.  And  yet  rainbows 
have  been  known  to  heal  a  broken  heart  before  now." 

"They  won't  heal  mine.  What  I  want  is  down  on  the 
solid  earth."  There  was  a  kind  of  desperate  pleading 
in  her  face  as  she  added,  "Why  can't  I  have  it?" 

"That  depends  on  what  it  is.    If  it's  health — ?" 

"It's  better  than  health." 

He  smiled.  "I've  always  heard  that  health  is  pretty 
good,  as  things  go — " 

"It's  good  enough.  But  there's  something  better,  and 
that's  patience.  If  you've  got  patience  you  can  do  without 
health." 

"I  don't  think  you're  much  in  need  of  a  doctor,  Mrs. 
Fay,"  he  laughed. 

"I  am,"  she  declared,  savagely.  "I  am,  because  I 
'ain't  got  either  of  'em;  and  if  I  had  I'd  give  them  both 
for  something  else. ' '  She  held  him  with  her  wild  gray  eyes, 
as  she  said:  "I'd  give  'em  both  for  money.  Money's 
better  than  patience  and  better  than  health.  If  I  had 
money  I  shouldn't  care  how  sick  I  was,  or  how  unhappy. 
If  I  had  money  my  son  wouldn't  be  in  jail." 

Though  startled,  he  knew  that,  like  a  confessor,  he 
must  show  no  sign  of  surprise.  He  remembered  now  that 
there  had  been  a  boy  in  the  Fay  family,  two  or  three 
years  younger  than  himself.  ' '  I  didn't  know — ' '  he  began, 
sympathetically . 

"You  didn't  know,  because  we're  not  even  talked 
about.  If  your  brother  was  in  jail  for  stealing  money 
it's  the  first  thing  the  town  would  tattle  of.  But  you've 
been  back  from  your  travels  for  a  year  or  more,  and  you 
'ain't  even  heard  that  our  Matt  is  doing  three  years  at 
Colcord." 

"But  you'd  rather  people  didn't  hear  it,  wouldn't  you?" 

7 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"I'd  rather  that  they'd  care  whether  I'm  alive  or  dead," 
she  said,  fiercely.  "I've  lived  all  my  life  in  this  village, 
and  my  ancestors  before  me.  Fay's  family  has  done  the 
same.  But  we're  pushed  aside  and  forgotten.  It's  as 
much  as  ever  if  some  one  will  tell  you  that  Jasper  Fay 
raises  lettuce  in  the  winter,  and  cucumbers  in  spring,  and 
a  few  flowers  all  the  year  round,  and  can't  pay  his  rent. 
I  don't  believe  you've  heard  that  much.     Have  you?" 

He  dodged  the  subject  by  asking  the  usual  professional 
questions  and  giving  some  elementary  professional  advice. 
"I'm  afraid,  Mrs.  Fay,  you're  taking  a  discouraged  view 
of  life,"  he  went  on,  by  way  of  doing  his  duty. 

She  sat  still  more  erect  in  her  arm-chair,  her  eyes  flash- 
ing. "If  you'd  seen  yourself  driven  to  the  wall  for  more'n 
thirty  year,  and  if  when  you  got  to  the  wall  you  were 
crushed  against  it,  and  crushed  again,  wouldn't  you  take 
a  discouraged  view  of  life  ?  I've  lived  on  bread  and  water, 
or  pretty  near  it,  ever  since  I  was  married,  and  what's 
come  of  it?  We're  worse  off  than  we  ever  were.  Fay's 
put  everything  he  could  scrape  together  into  this  bit  of 
land,  and  now  your  father  is  shilly-shallying  again  about 
renewing  the  lease." 

"Oh,  so  that's  it!" 

"That's  it — but  it's  only  some  of  it.  Look  out  there. 
All  Fay's  sweat  and  blood  and  all  of  mine  is  in  those 
greenhouses  and  that  ground.  It's  everything  we've  got 
to  live  on,  and  God  knows  what  kind  of  a  living  it  is. 
Your  father  has  never  given  us  more'n  a  three  years' 
lease,  and  every  three  years  he's  raised  the  rent  on  us. 
He's  had  us  in  his  power  from  the  first —  Oh,  he's  crafty, 
getting  us  to  rent  the  land  from  him  instead  of  buying  it, 
and  Fay  that  soft  that  he  believed  him  to  be  his  friend! — 
he's  had  us  in  his  power  from  the  first,  and  he's  never 
spared  us.  No  wonder  he's  rich!  And  you're  coming 
in  for  that  Thorley  money,  too.  I  know  what  your  grand- 
father Thorley's  will  was.  Going  to  get  it  when  you're 
thirty.     Must  be  pretty  nigh  that  now,  ain't  you?" 

8 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

To  humor  her  Thor  named  the  date  in  the  following 
February  when  he  should  reach  the  age  fixed  by  his  grand- 
father for  entering  on  the  inheritance. 

"What'd  I  tell  you?  I  remember  your  grandfather 
as  plain  as  plain.  Big,  hard-faced  man  he  was,  something 
like  you.  My  folks  could  remember  him  when  he  hawked 
garden-truck  to  back  doors  in  the  city.  Nothing  but  a 
farmer's  son  he  was,  just  like  the  rest  of  us — and  he  died 
rich.  Only  difference  between  the  Thorleys  and  the  Fays 
was  that  the  Thorleys  held  on  to  their  land  and  the  Fays 
didn't.  Neither  did  my  folks,  the  Grimeses.  If  we'd  been 
crafty  and  hadn't  sold  till  the  city  was  creeping  down  our 
chimneys  like  the  Thorleys  and  the  Brands,  we  should  be 
as  rich  as  them.  Cut  your  father  out  of  his  will  good 
and  hard,  your  grandfather  did,  and  now  it  '11  all  come  to 
you.  Why,  there  was  a  time  when  the  Thorleys  hired 
out  to  my  folks ,  and  so  did  the  Willoughbys !  And  now — ! ' ' 
She  threw  the  quilt  from  off  her  knees  and  spread  her 
hands  outward.  "Oh,  I'm  sick  of  it!  I've  spent  my 
life  watching  every  one  else  go  up  and  me  and  mine  go 
down — and  I'm  sick  of  it.     I'm  not  sick  any  other  way — " 

"No,  I  don't  think  you  are,"  he  said,  gently. 

" But  that's  bad  enough,  isn't  it?  If  I  had  a  fever  or  a 
cold  you  could  give  me  something  to  take  it  away.  But 
what  can  you  do  for  the  state  of  mind  I'm  in?" 

He  answered,  slowly,  "  I  can't  do  much  just  yet — though 
I  can  do  a  little — but  by  and  by,  perhaps — when  I  know 
more  exactly  what  the  trouble  is — " 

"You  can't  know  it  better  than  I  can  tell  you  now. 
It's  just  this — that  I've  all  I  can  do  to  keep  from  stealing 
down  to  Thorley's  Pond,  when  no  one's  looking,  and  throw- 
ing myself  in.     What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"I  think  you  won't  do  it,"  he  smiled,  "but  I  wouldn't 
play  with  the  idea  if  I  were  you." 

"Look  here,"  she  cried,  seizing  him  by  the  arm  and 
pulling  him  out  of  his  chair.  "Look  out  of  that  window." 
He  followed  the  pointing  of  her  finger  to  a  high  bluff 
2  9 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

covered  with  oaks,  to  which  the  withered  brown  foliage 
still  clung,  though  other  trees  were  bare.  "That's  Duck 
Rock.  Well,  there's  a  spot  there  where  the  water's 
thirty  foot  deep.     What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

He  moved  back  from  the  window,  but  remained  stand- 
ing. "I  think  that  it  doesn't  matter  to  you  and  me 
whether  it's  thirty  foot  deep  or  sixty  or  a  hundred." 

"  It  matters  to  me.  In  thirty  foot  of  water  I'd  go  down 
like  a  stone;  and  then  it  'd  be  all  over.  After  that  noth- 
ing but — sleep."  Her  eyes  held  him  again.  "  You  don't 
believe  there'll  be  anything  after  it  but  sleep,  do  you?" 

He  dodged  that  question,  too.     "But  you  do." 

"I  was  brought  up  an  orthodox  Congregational — but 
what's  the  good  ?  All  I've  ever  got  out  of  it  was  rainbows ; 
and  what  I've  wanted  is  solid.  I've  wanted  to  do  some- 
thing, and  be  something,  and  have  something — and  not  be 
pushed  back  and  trampled  out  of  sight  by  people  who 
used  to  hire  out  to  my  folks  and  can  treat  me  like  dirt 
to-day,  just  because  they've  got  the  money.  Why  haven't 
I  got  it,  too?  I'm  fit  for  it.  I  had  good  schooling. 
Louisa  Thorley — your  own  mother,  that  is — and  me  went 
to  school  together.  Your  father  ran  away  with  her  and 
she  died  when  you  were  born.  We  went  to  school  to 
old  Miss  Brand — aunt  to  Bessie  Brand  that's  now  Bessie 
Willoughby  and  holds  her  head  so  high.  Poor  as  church 
mice  they  was  in  those  days.  But  then  every  one  was 
poor.  We  was  all  poor  together — and  happy.  And  now 
some  are  poor  and  some  are  rich — and  there's  upper  classes 
and  lower  classes — and  everything's  got  uneven — and  I'm 
sick  of  it." 

To  calm  her  excitement  he  talked  to  her  with  the  in- 
spiration of  young  earnestness,  getting  his  reward  in  an 
attention  accorded  perhaps  for  the  very  reason  that  the 
earnestness  was  young.  "I  think  I  must  run  off  now," 
he  finished,  when  he  thought  her  slightly  comforted, 
"but  I'll  send  you  something  I  want  you  to  take  at  once. 
You'll  take  a  tablespoonful  in  half  a  glass  of  water — " 

10 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

The  rebellious  spirit  revived,  though  less  bitterly.  "And 
it  '11  do  me  as  much  good  as  a  dose  of  your  uncle's  rainbows. 
What  I  want  is  what  I  shall  never  get — or  sleep." 

"Well,  you'll  get  sleep,"  he  said,  smiling  and  holding 
out  his  hand.  "You'll  sleep  to-night — and  I'll  come 
again  to-morrow." 

He  was  at  the  door  when  she  called  out :  "  Do  you  know 
what  our  Matt  got  his  three  years  for?  It  was  for  stealing 
money  from  Massy's  grocery-store,  where  he  was  book- 
keeper. And  do  you  know  what  made  him  steal  it? 
It  was  to  help  us  pay  the  rent  the  last  time  your  father 
raised  it.  I'll  bet  he's  done  worse  than  that  twenty  times 
a  year;  but  he's  driving  round  in  automobiles,  while  my 
poor  boy's  in  Colcord." 


CHAPTER   II 

ON  going  down-stairs,  Thor  looked  about  him  for 
Rosie  Fay.  She  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  the 
house  was  cheerless.  He  could  imagine  that  to  an  am- 
bitious woman  circumscribed  by  its  dreary  neatness  Duck 
Rock  with  its  thirty  feet  of  water  might  be  a  welcome 
change. 

Continuing  his  search  when  he  went  outside,  he  gazed 
round  what  was  left  of  the  old  orchard.  He  remembered 
Fay — a  slim  fellow  with  a  gentle,  dreamy  face  and  starry 
eyes.  He  had  seen  him  occasionally  during  the  past 
eighteen  years,  though  rarely.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Fay's 
greenhouses  lay  on  that  part  of  the  shore  of  Thorley's 
Pond  most  out  of  the  way  of  the  pedestrian.  Only  of  late 
had  new  roads  wormed  themselves  up  the  steep  northern 
bank  of  the  pond,  bringing  from  the  city  well-to-do,  coun- 
try-loving souls  who  desired  space  and  sunshine.  It  was 
a  satisfaction  to  Thor's  father,  Archie  Masterman,  that 
only  the  best  type  of  suburban  residence  was  going  up 
among  these  sylvan  glades,  and  that  the  property  was 
justifying  his  foresight  as  an  investor. 

The  young  man  could  understand  that  it  should  be  so, 
for  the  spot  was  picturesque.  Sheltered  from  the  north 
by  a  range  of  wooded  hills,  it  was  like  a  great  green  cup 
held  out  to  the  sunshine.  The  region  was  favorable, 
therefore,  to  the  raising  of  early  "garden-truck."  When- 
ever the  frost  was  out  of  the  ground,  oblongs  of  green 
things  growing  in  straight  lines  gave  a  special  freshness 
to  the  landscape,  while  from  any  of  the  knolls  over  which 
the  township  clambered  clusters  of  greenhouses  glinted 

12 


PAUSING    IN    HER    WORK,    THE    GIRL    LOOKED    DOWN    THE    HALF-LENGTH 
OF    THE    GREENHOUSE    AS    A    HINT    FOR    HIM    TO    ADVANCE 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

like  distant  sheets  of  water.  One  had  to  get  them  in 
contrast  to  the  sparkling  blue  eye  of  Thorley's  Pond  to 
perceive  that  they  were  not  tiny  lakes.  With  so  pleasing 
a  view,  hemmed  in  by  the  haze  of  the  city  toward  the 
south,  and  a  hint  of  the  Atlantic  south  of  that,  there  was 
every  reason  why  Fay's  plot  of  land  should  appreciate 
in  value. 

On  these  grounds  it  became  comprehensible  to  Thor 
that  his  father  might  raise  the  rent  and  still  not  be  an 
instrument  of  oppression.  It  was  consoling  to  him  to 
perceive  this.  It  helped  to  allay  certain  uncomfortable 
suspicions  that  had  risen  in  his  mind  since  coming  home, 
and  which  were  not  easy  to  dispel. 

He  caught  sight  at  last  of  Rosie's  dull-green  frock  in  the 
one  hothouse  in  which  there  were  flowers.  Through  the 
glass  roof  he  could  see  the  red  disks  of  poinsettias  and 
the  crimson  or  white  of  azaleas  coming  into  bloom.  The 
other  two  houses  sheltered  long,  level  rectangles  of  tender 
green,  representing  lettuce  in  different  stages  of  the  crop. 
A  bow-legged  Italian  was  closing  the  skylights  that  had 
been  opened  for  the  milder  part  of  the  day ;  another  Italian 
replaced  the  covers  on  hot-beds  that  might  have  contained 
violets.  From  the  high  furnace  chimney  a  plume  of 
yellow-brown  smoke  floated  heavily  on  the  windless  air. 
The  place  looked  undermanned  and  forlorn. 

On  opening  the  door  he  was  met  by  the  sweet,  warm 
odor  of  damp  earth  and  green  things  growing  and  blossom- 
ing. Pausing  in  her  work,  the  girl  looked  down  the  half- 
length  of  the  greenhouse  as  a  hint  for  him  to  advance. 
He  went  toward  her  between  feathery  banks  of  gray-green 
carnations,  on  which  the  long,  oval,  compact  buds  were 
loosening  their  sheaths  to  display  the  dawn-pink  within. 
Half  covered  up  by  a  coarse  apron  or  pinafore,  she  stood 
at  a  high  table,  like  a  counter,  against  a  background  of 
poinsettias. 

"We  don't  go  in  for  flowers,  really,"  she  explained  to 
him,  after  he  had  given  her  certain  directions  concerning 

13 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

her  mother.     "It  would  be  better  if  we  didn't  try  to 
raise  them  at  all." 

Thor,  whose  ear  was  sensitive,  noticed  that  her  voice 
was  pleasant  to  listen  to,  and  her  speech  marked  by  a 
simple,  unaffected  refinement.  He  lingered  because  he 
was  interested  in  her  work.  He  found  a  kind  of  fascina- 
tion in  watching  her  as  she  took  a  moist  red  flower-pot 
from  one  end  of  the  table,  threw  in  a  handful  or  two  of 
earth  from  the  heap  at  the  other  end,  then  a  root  that 
looked  like  a  cluster  of  yellow,  crescent-shaped  onions, 
then  a  little  more  earth,  after  which  she  turned  to  place 
the  flower-pot  as  one  of  the  row  on  the  floor  behind  her. 
There  was  something  rhythmic  in  her  movements.  Each 
detail  took  the  same  amount  of  action  and  time.  She 
might  have  been  working  to  music.  Her  left  hand  made 
precisely  the  same  gesture  with  each  flower-pot  she  took 
from  the  line  in  which  they  lay  telescoped  together.  Her 
right  hand  described  the  same  graceful  curve  with  every 
impatient,  petulant  handful  of  earth. 

"Why  do  you  raise  them,  then?"  he  asked,  for  the  sake 
of  saying  something. 

She  answered,  wearily:  "Oh,  it's  father.  He  can't 
make  up  his  mind  what  to  do.  Or,  rather,  he  makes  up 
his  mind  both  ways  at  once.  Because  some  people  make 
a  good  thing  out  of  raising  flowers  he  thinks  he'll  do  that. 
And  because  others  do  a  big  business  in  garden-stuff,  he 
thinks  he'll  do  that." 

"And  so  he  falls  between  two  stools.     I  see." 

"It's  no  use  being  a  market-gardener,"  she  went  on, 
disdainfully  tossing  the  earth  into  another  pot,  "unless 
you're  a  big  market-gardener,  and  it's  no  use  being  a 
florist  unless  you're  a  big  florist.  Everything  has  to  be 
big  nowadays  to  make  it  pay.  And  the  trouble  with 
father  is  that  he  does  so  many  things  small.  He  sees 
big,"  she  analyzed,  continuing  her  work — "so  big  that 
he  goes  all  to  pieces  when  he  tries  to  carry  his  ideas 
out." 

14 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"And  you  think  that  if  he  concentrated  his  forces  on 
raising  garden-stuff — " 

She  explained  further:  People  had  to  have  lettuce  and 
radishes  and  carrots  and  cucumbers  whatever  happened, 
whereas  flowers  were  a  luxury.  Whenever  money  was 
scarce  they  didn't  buy  them.  If  it  were  not  for  weddings 
and  funerals  and  Christmas  and  Easter  they  wouldn't 
buy  them  at  all.  Then,  too,  they  were  expensive  to  raise, 
and  difficult.  You  couldn't  do  it  by  casting  a  little  seed 
into  the  ground.  Every  azalea  was  imported  from  Bel- 
gium; every  lily-bulb  from  Japan.  True,  the  carnations 
were  grown  from  slips,  but  if  he  only  knew  the  trouble 
they  gave!  Those  at  which  he  was  looking,  and  which 
had  the  innocent  air  of  springing  and  blooming  of  their  own 
accord,  had  been  through  no  less  than  four  tedious  proc- 
esses since  the  slips  were  taken  in  the  preceding  February. 
First  they  had  been  planted  in  sand  for  the  root  to  strike; 
then  transferred  to  flats,  or  shallow  wooden  boxes;  then 
bedded  out  in  the  garden;  and  lastly  brought  into  the 
house.  If  he  would  only  consider  the  labor  involved  in 
all  that,  to  say  nothing  of  the  incessant  watching  and 
watering,  and  keeping  the  house  at  the  proper  temperature 
by  night  and  by  day — well,  he  could  see  for  himself. 

He  did  see  for  himself.  He  said  so  absently,  because 
he  was  noting  the  fact  that  her  serious,  earnest  eyes  were 
of  the  peculiar  shade  which,  when  seen  in  eyes,  is  called 
green.  It  was  still  absently  that  he  added,  "And  you 
have  to  work  pretty  hard." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Oh,  I  don't  mind  that. 
Anything  to  live." 

"What  are  you  doing  there?" 

There  was  an  exasperated  note  in  her  voice  as  she 
replied:  "Oh,  these  are  the  Easter  lilies.  We  have  to 
begin  on  them  now." 

"And  do  you  do  them  all?" 

"I  do,  when  there's  no  one  else.  Father's  men  keep 
leaving."     She  flung  him  a  look  he  would  have  thought 

15 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

defiant  if  he  hadn't  found  it  frank.  "  I  don't  blame  them. 
Half  the  time  they're  not  paid." 

"  I  see.     So  that  you  fill  in.     Do  you  like  it?" 

"Would  you  like  doing  what  isn't  of  any  use? — what 
will  never  be  of  any  use?  Would  you  like  to  be  always 
running  as  hard  as  you  can,  just  to  fall  out  of  the  race?" 

He  tried  to  smile.     "I  shouldn't  like  it  for  long." 

"Well,  there's  that,"  she  said,  as  though  he  had  sug- 
gested a  form  of  consolation.  "  It  won't  be  for  long.  It 
can't  be.     Father  won't  be  able  to  go  on  like  this." 

He  decided  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns.  "Is  that 
because  my  father  doesn't  want  to  renew  the  lease?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  again.  "Oh  no,  not  par- 
ticularly.    It  is  that — and  everything  else." 

He  felt  it  the  part  of  tact  to  make  signs  of  going,  utter- 
ing a  few  parting  injunctions  with  regard  to  the  mother  as 
he  did  so. 

"And  I  wouldn't  leave  her  too  much  alone,"  he  advised. 
"She  could  easily  slip  out  without  attracting  any  one's 
attention.  Tell  your  father  I  said  so.  I  suppose  he's 
not  in  the  house." 

"He's  off  somewhere  trying  to  engage  a  night  fire- 
man." 

He  ignored  this  information  to  emphasize  his  counsels. 
"  It's  most  important  that  while  she's  in  this  state  of  mind 
some  one  should  be  with  her.  And  if  we  knew  of  anything 
she'd  specially  like — " 

She  continued  to  work  industriously.  "The  thing  she'd 
like  best  in  this  world  won't  do  her  any  good  when  it 
happens."  She  threw  in  a  bulb  with  impetuous  vehe- 
mence. "It's  to  have  Matt  out  of  jail.  He  will  be  out 
in  the  course  of  a  few  months.     But  he'll  be — a  jail-bird." 

"We  must  try  to  help  him  live  that  down." 

She  turned  her  great  greenish  eyes  on  him  again  with 
that  look  which  struck  him  as  both  frank  and  pitiful. 
"That's  one  of  the  things  people  in  our  position  can't  do. 
It's  the  first  thing  mother  herself  will  think  of  when  she 

16 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

sees  Matt  hanging  about  the  house — for  he'll  never  get 
a  job." 

"He  can  help  your  father.  He  can  be  the  night  fire- 
man." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  the  fatalistic  move- 
ment he  was  beginning  to  recognize.  "Father  won't  need 
a  night  fireman  by  that  time." 

He  could  only  say:  "All  the  same,  your  mother  must 
be  watched.  She  can't  be  allowed  to  throw  herself  from 
Duck  Rock,  now,  can  she?" 

"I  don't  say  allowed.     But  if  she  did — " 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"She'd  be  out  of  it.     That  would  be  something." 

"Admitting  that  it  would  be  something  for  her,  what 
would  it  be  for  your  father  and  you?" 

She  relaxed  the  energy  of  her  hands.  He  had  time  to 
notice  them.  It  hurt  him  to  see  anything  so  shapely 
coarsened  with  hard  work.  "Wouldn't  it  be  that  much?" 
she  asked,  as  if  reaching  a  conclusion.  "If  she  were  out 
of  it,  it  would  be  a  gain  all  round." 

Never  having  heard  a  human  being  speak  like  this,  he 
was  shocked.  "  But  everything  can't  be  so  black.  There 
must  be  something  somewhere." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  obliquely.  Months  afterward 
he  recalled  the  look.  Her  tone,  when  she  spoke,  seemed 
to  be  throwing  him  a  challenge  as  well  as  making  an  ad- 
mission.    "Well,  there  is — one  thing." 

He  spoke  triumphantly.  "Ah,  there  is  one  thing, 
then?" 

"Yes,  but  it  may  not  happen." 

"Oh,  lots  of  things  may  not  happen.  We  just  have  to 
hope  they  will.     That's  all  we've  got  to  live  by." 

There  was  a  lovely  solemnity  about  her.  "And  even 
if  it  did  happen,  so  many  people  would  be  opposed  to  it 
that  I'm  not  sure  it  would  do  any  good,  after  all." 

"Oh,  but  we  won't  think  of  the  people  who'd  be  opposed 
to  it—" 

17 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"We  should  have  to,  because" — the  sweet  fixity  of  her 
gaze  gave  him  an  odd  thrill — "because  you'd  be  one." 

He  laughed  as  he  held  out  his  hand  to  say  good-by. 
"Don't  be  too  sure.  And  in  any  case  it  won't  matter 
about  me." 

She  declined  to  take  his  hand  on  the  ground  that  her 
own  was  soiled  with  loam,  but  she  mystified  him  slightly 
when  she  said:  "It  will  matter  about  you;  and  if  the 
thing  ever  happens  I  want  you  to  remember  that  I  told 
you  so.     I  can't  play  fair;  but  I'll  play  as  fair  as  I  can." 


CHAPTER   III 

THOR  was  deaf  to  these  enigmatic  words  in  the  excite- 
ment of  perceiving  that  the  girl  had  beauty.  The 
discovery  gave  him  a  new  sort  of  pleasure  as  he  turned  his 
runabout  toward  the  town.  Beauty  had  not  hitherto 
been  a  condition  to  which  he  attached  great  value.  If 
anything,  he  had  held  it  in  some  scorn.  Now,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  emotional  life,  he  was  stirred  by  a  girl's 
mere  prettiness — a  quite  unusual  prettiness,  it  had  to  be 
admitted;  a  slightly  haggard  prettiness,  perhaps;  a 
prettiness  a  little  worn  by  work,  a  little  coarsened  by  wind 
and  weather;  a  prettiness  too  desperate  for  youth  and 
too  tragic  for  coquetry,  but  for  those  very  reasons  doubt- 
less all  the  more  haunting.  He  was  obliged  to  remind 
himself  that  it  was  nothing  to  him,  since  he  had  never 
swerved  from  the  intention  to  marry  Lois  Willoughby 
as  soon  as  he  had  made  a  start  in  practice  and  come  into 
the  money  he  was  to  get  at  thirty ;  but  he  could  see  it  was 
the  sort  of  thing  by  which  other  men  might  be  affected, 
and  came  to  a  mental  standstill  there. 

Driving  on  into  the  city,  he  went  straight  to  his  father's 
office  in  Commonwealth  Row.  It  was  already  after  four 
o'clock,  and  except  for  two  young  men  sorting  checks  and 
putting  away  ledgers,  the  cagelike  divisions  of  the  banking 
department  were  empty.  One  of  the  men  was  whistling; 
the  other  was  calling  in  a  loud,  gay  voice,  "Say,  Cheever, 
what  about  to-night?" — signs  that  the  enforced  decorum 
of  the  day  was  past. 

Claude  was  in  the  outer  office  reserved  for  customers. 
He  wore  his  overcoat,  hat,  and  gloves.     A  stick  hung  over 

19 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

his  left  arm  by  its  crooked  handle.  The  ticker  was  silent, 
but  a  portion  of  the  tape  fluttered  between  his  gloved 
fingers. 

Though  his  back  was  toward  the  door,  he  recognized 
his  half-brother's  step  with  that  mixture  of  envy  and 
irritation  which  Thor's  presence  always  stirred  in  him. 
He  was  not  without  fraternal  affection,  especially  when 
Thor  was  away;  when  he  was  at  home  it  was  difficult 
for  Claude  not  to  resent  the  elder's  superiority.  Claude 
called  it  superiority  for  want  of  a  better  word,  though  he 
meant  no  more  than  a  combination  of  advantages  he  him- 
self would  have  enjoyed.  He  meant  Thor's  prospective 
money,  his  good  spirits,  good  temper,  and  good  health. 
Claude  had  not  good  health,  which  excused,  in  his  judg- 
ment, his  lack  of  good  spirits  and  good  temper.  Neither 
had  Claude  any  money  beyond  the  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
a  year  he  earned  in  his  father's  office.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  saying  to  himself,  and  in  confidence  to  his  friends,  that 
it  was  "damned  hard  luck"  that  he  should  be  compelled 
to  live  on  a  pittance  like  that,  when  Thor,  within  a  few 
months,  would  come  into  a  good  thirty  thousand  a  year. 

It  was  some  consolation  that  Thor  was  what  his  brother 
called  "an  ugly  beast" — sallow  and  lantern-jawed,  with 
a  long,  narrow  head  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  sat  on. 
The  eyes  were  not  bad;  that  had  to  be  admitted;  they 
were  as  friendly  as  a  welcoming  light;  but  the  mouth 
was  so  big  and  aggressive  that  even  the  mustache  Thor 
was  trying  to  grow  couldn't  subdue  its  boldness.  As  for 
the  nose  and  chin,  they  looked — according  to  Claude's 
account — as  if  they  had  been  created  soft,  and  subjected 
to  a  system  of  grotesque  elongation  before  hardening. 
Claude  could  the  more  safely  make  game  of  his  brother's 
looks  seeing  that  he  himself  was  notably  handsome,  with 
traits  as  regular  as  if  they  had  been  carved,  and  a  profile 
so  exact  that  it  was  frequently  exposed  in  photographers' 
windows,  to  the  envy  of  gentlemen  gazers.  While  Thor 
had  once  tried  to  mitigate  his  features  by  a  beard  that 

20 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  been  unsuccessful  and  had  now  disappeared,  Claude 
wouldn't  disfigure  himself  by  a  hair.  He  was  as  clean- 
shaven as  a  marble  Apollo,  and  not  less  neatly  limbed. 

"Gone."  Claude  raised  his  eyes  just  long  enough  to 
utter  the  word. 

Thor  came  to  an  abrupt  stop.     "Club?" 
"Suppose  so."     He  added,  without  raising  his  head, 
"Wish  to  God  the  drunken  sot  would  stay  there."     He 
continued,  while  still  apparently  reading  the  tape  in  his 
hand,  "Father  wishes  it,  too." 

Thor  was  not  altogether  taken  by  surprise.  Ever  since 
his  return  from  Europe,  a  year  earlier,  he  had  wondered 
how  his  father's  patience  could  hold  out.  He  took  it 
that  there  was  a  reason  for  it,  a  reason  he  at  once  expressed 
to  Claude: 

"Father  can't  wish  it.     He  can't  afford  to." 
Claude    lifted    his    handsome,    rather    insolent    face. 
"Why  not?" 

"For  the  simple  reason  that  he's  got  his  money." 
"Much  you  know  about  it.     Len  Willoughby  hasn't 
enough  money  left  in  Toogood  &  Masterman's  to  take  him 
on  a  trip  to  Europe." 

Thor  backed  toward  the  receiving-teller's  wicket,  where 
he  rested  the  tips  of  his  elbows  on  the  counter.  He  was 
visibly  perturbed.     "What's  become  of  it,  then?" 

"Don't  ask  me.  All  I  know  is  what  I'm  telling 
you." 

"Did  father  say  so  himself?" 

"Not  in  so  many  words.     But  I  know  it."     He  tossed 
the  tape  from  him  and  began  to  smooth  his  gloves. 
"Father  means  to  ship  him." 
' '  Ship  him  ?     He  can't  do  that . ' ' 
"Can't?     I  should  like  to  know  why  not." 
"Because  he  can't.     That's  why.     Because  he  has — " 
'Yes?    Cough  it  up.     Speak  as  if  you  had  something 
up  your  sleeve." 

Thor  reflected  as  to  the  wisdom  of  saying  more.     ' '  Well, 

21 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

I  have,"  he  admitted.  "  It's  something  I  remember  from 
the  time  we  were  kids.  You  were  too  young  to  notice. 
But  I  noticed — and  I  haven't  forgotten.  Father  can't 
ship  Len  Willoughby  without  being  sure  he  has  enough 
to  live  on."  He  decided  to  speak  out,  if  for  no  other 
reason  than  that  of  securing  Claude's  co-operation. 
"  Father  persuaded  Mr.  Willoughby  to  put  Mrs.  Willough- 
by's  money  into  the  business  when  he  didn't  want  to." 

"Ah,  shucks!"  Claude  exclaimed,  contemptuously. 

"He  did,"  Thor  insisted.  "It  was  back  in  1892,  in 
Paris,  that  first  time  they  took  us  abroad.  You  were 
only  nine  and  I  was  twelve.  I  heard  them.  I  was  hang- 
ing round  one  evening  in  that  little  hotel  we  stayed  at  in 
the  rue  de  Rivoli — the  H6tel  de  Marsan,  wasn't  it?  The 
Willoughbys  had  been  living  in  Paris  for  five  or  six  years, 
and  father  got  them  to  come  home.  I  heard  him  ask 
mother  to  talk  it  up  with  Mrs.  Willoughby.  Mother  said 
she  didn't  want  to,  but  father  got  round  her,  and  she 
agreed  to  try.  She  said,  too,  that  Bessie  might  be  willing 
because  Len  had  already  begun  to  take  too  much  and  it 
would  brace  him  up  if  he  got  work  to  do." 

« '  Work !"  Claude  sniffed.     ' '  Him !" 

"Father  knew  he  couldn't  work — knew  he'd  tried  all 
sorts  of  things — first  to  be  an  artist,  then  to  write,  then 
to  get  into  the  consular  service,  and  the  Lord  knows  what. 
It  wasn't  his  work  that  father  was  after.  It  was  just 
when  the  Toogood  estate  withdrew  old  Mr.  Toogood's 
money,  and  father  had  to  have  more  capital." 

"Well,  Len  Willoughby  didn't  have  any." 

"No;  but  his  wife  had.  It  came  to  the  same  thing. 
Suppose  she  must  have  had  between  three  and  four  hun- 
dred thousand  from  old  man  Brand.  I  remember  hearing 
father  say  to  mother  that  Len  was  making  ducks  and 
drakes  of  it  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  that  it  might  as  well 
help  the  firm  of  Toogood  &  Masterman  as  go  to  the  deuce. 
Can  still  hear  father  feeding  the  poor  fool  with  bluff  about 
the  great  banker  he'd  make  and  how  it  was  the  dead  loss 

22 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

of  a  fortune  that  he  hadn't  had  a  seat  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change years  before." 

Claude  sniffed  again.  "You'd  better  carry  your  load 
to  father  himself." 

"I  will — if  I  have  to."  Before  Claude  had  found  a 
rejoinder,  Thor  went  on,  changing  the  subject  abruptly, 
so  as  not  to  be  led  into  being  indiscreet,  "Say,  Claude,  do 
you  remember  Fay,  the  gardener?" 

Claude  was  still  smoothing  his  gloves,  but  he  stopped, 
with  the  thumb  and  fingers  of  his  right  hand  grasping  the 
middle  finger  of  the  left.  More  than  ever  his  features 
suggested  a  marble  stoniness.     "No." 

"Oh,  but  you  must.  Used  to  be  Grandpa  Thorley's 
gardener.  Has  the  greenhouses  on  father's  land  north  of 
the  pond." 

Claude  recovered  himself  slightly.  "Well,  what  about 
him?" 

"  Been  to  see  his  wife.  Patient  of  Uncle  Sim's.  Turned 
her  on  to  me.     They're  having  the  deuce  of  a  time." 

Claude  recovered  himself  still  more.  He  looked  at  his 
brother  curiously.     "Well,  what's  it  got  to  do  with  me?" 

"Nothing  directly." 

"Well,  then — indirectly?"  Claude  asked,  defiantly. 

"Only  this,  that  it  has  to  do  with  both  of  us,  since  it 
concerns  father." 

Claude  was  by  this  time  master  of  himself.  ' '  Look  here, 
Thor.   Are  you  getting  a  bee  in  your  bonnet  about  father  ?" 

"Good  Lord!  no.  But  father's  immersed  in  business. 
He  can't  be  expected  to  know  how  all  the  details  of  his 
policy  work  out.  He's  not  young  any  longer,  and  he 
isn't  in  touch  with  modern  social  and  economic  ideas." 

"Oh,  stow  the  modern  social  and  economic  ideas,  and 
let's  get  to  business.  What's  up  with  this  family — of — 
of—    What-d'you-call-'ems?" 

With  his  feet  planted  firmly  apart,  Claude  swung  his 
stick  airily  back  and  forth  across  the  front  of  his  person, 
though  he  listened  with  apparent  attention. 

23 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"You  know,  Thor,  as  a  matter  of  fact,"  he  explained, 
when  the  latter  had  finished  his  account,  "that  the  kindest 
thing  father  can  do  for  Fay  is  to  let  him  peter  out.  Fay- 
thinks  that  father  and  the  lease  are  the  obstacle  he's  up 
against,  when  in  reality  it's  the  whole  thing." 

"Oh,  so  you  do  know  about  it?" 

Claude  saw  his  mistake,  and  righted  himself  quickly. 
"Y-yes.  Now  that  you — you  speak  of  it,  I — I  do.  It 
comes — a — back  to  me.     I've  heard  father  mention  it." 

"And  what  did  father  say?" 

"Just  what  I'm  telling  you.  That  the  lease  isn't  the 
chief  factor  in  Fay's  troubles — isn't  really  a  factor  at  all. 
Poor  old  fellow's  a  dunderhead.  That's  where  it  is  in  a 
nutshell.  Never  could  make  a  living.  Never  will.  Re- 
member him?" 

"  Vaguely.     Haven't  seen  him  for  years." 

"Well,  when  you  do  see  him  you'll  understand.  Nice 
old  chap  as  ever  lived.  Only  impractical,  dreamy. 
Gentle  as  a  sheep — and  no  more  capable  of  running  that 
big,  expensive  plant  than  a  motherly  old  ewe.  That's 
where  the  trouble  is.  When  father's  closed  down  on  him 
and  edged  him  out — quietly,  you  understand — it  '11  be  the 
best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  them  all." 

Thor  reflected.  "I  see  that  you  know  more  about  it 
than  you  thought.     You  know  all  about  it." 

Again  Claude  caught  himself  up,  shifting  his  position 
adroitly.  "Oh  no,  I  don't.  Just  what  I've  heard  father 
say.  When  you  spoke  of  it  at  first  the  name  slipped  my 
memory." 

Thor  reverted  to  the  original  theme.  "The  son's  in 
jail.     Did  you  know  that?" 

But  Claude  was  again  on  his  guard.  "Oh,  so  there's  a 
son?" 

"Son  about  your  age.  Matt  his  name  is.  Surely  you 
must  recall  him.  Used  to  pick  pease  with  us  when  Fay'd 
let  us  do  it." 

Claude  shook  his  head  silently. 

24 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"And  there's  a  girl." 

Claude's  stick  hung  limply  before  him.  His  face  and 
figure  resumed  their  stony  immobility.  "Oh,  is  there? 
Plain?" 

"No;  pretty.  Very  pretty.  Very  unusually  pretty. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  I  shouldn't  mind  saying —  Yes,  I 
will  say  it!  She's  the  prettiest  girl  I've  ever  seen." 
The  eyes  of  the  two  brothers  met.     "Bar  none." 

The  smile  on  Claude's  lips  might  have  passed  for  an 
expression  of  brotherly  chaff.  "Go  it,  old  chap.  Seem 
smitten." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that.  Nothing  of  the  sort  at  all.  I  speak 
of  her  only  because  I'm  sorry  for  her.  Brunt  of  whole 
thing  comes  on  her." 

"Well,  what  do  you  propose  that  we  should  do?" 

"I  haven't  got  as  far  as  proposing.  Haven't  thought 
the  thing  out  at  all.  But  I  think  we  ought  to  do  some- 
thing— you  and  I." 

"We  can't  do  anything  without  father — and  father 
won't.  He  simply  won't.  Fay  '11  have  to  go.  Good 
thing,  too;  that's  what  I  say.  Get  'em  all  on  a  basis  on 
which  they  can  manage.  Fay  '11  find  a  job  with  one  of  the 
other  growers — " 

"Yes;  but  what's  to  become  of  the  girl?" 

Claude  stared  with  a  kind  of  bravado.  "How  the 
devil  do  I  know?  She'll  do  the  best  she  can,  I  suppose. 
Go  into  a  shop.     Lots  of  girls  go  into  shops." 

Thor  studied  his  brother  with  mild  curiosity.  "You're 
a  queer  fellow,  Claude.  A  minute  ago  you  couldn't  re- 
member Fay's  name;  and  now  you've  got  his  whole 
business  at  your  fingers'  ends." 

But  Claude  repeated  his  explanation.  "Got  father's 
business  at  my  fingers'  ends,  if  that's  what  you  mean. 
In  such  big  affairs  chap  like  Fay  only  a  detail.  Couldn't 
recall  him  at  first,  but  once  I'd  caught  on  to  him — " 

By  moving  away  toward  the  inner  office,  where  Cheever 
was  still  at  work,  Claude  intimated  that,  as  far  as  he  was 
3  25 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

concerned,  the  conversation  was  ended.  Thor  returned 
to  his  runabout. 

"Say,  Claude,"  Cheever  called,  "comin'  to  see  'The 
Champion  '  to-night,  ain't  you?     Countin'  on  you." 

Claude  laid  a  friendly  hand  on  Cheever' s  arm.  He 
liked  to  be  on  easy  terms  with  his  father's  clerks.  "Aw- 
fully sorry,  Billy,  but  you  must  excuse  me.  Fact  is,  that 
damn-fool  brother  of  mine  has  been  putting  his  finger  in 
my  pie.  Got  to  do  something  to  get  it  out — and  do  it 
quick.     Awfully  sorry.     Sha'n't  be  free." 


CHAPTER   IV 

BESIDE  his  favorite  window  at  the  club,  commanding 
the  movement  of  the  street  and  the  bare  trees  of  the 
park,  Len  Willoughby  had  got  together  the  essentials  to  a 
pleasant  hour.  They  consisted  of  the  French  and  English 
illustrated  papers,  two  or  three  excellent  Havanas,  a 
bottle  of  Scotch  whisky,  and  a  siphon  of  aerated  water. 
On  the  table  beside  him  there  was  also  an  empty  glass 
that  had  contained  a  cocktail. 

It  was  the  consoling  moment  of  the  day.  After  the 
strain  of  a  nine-o'clock  breakfast  and  the  rush  to  the  city 
before  eleven,  after  the  hours  of  purposeless  hanging 
about  the  office  of  Toogood  &  Masterman,  where  he  could 
see  he  wasn't  wanted,  he  found  it  restful  to  retire  into  his 
own  corner  and  sink  drowsily  into  his  cups.  He  did  sink 
into  them  drowsily,  and  yet  through  well-marked  phases 
of  excitement.  He  knew  those  phases  now;  he  could  tell 
in  advance  how  each  stage  would  pass  into  another. 

There  was  first  the  comfort  of  the  big  chair  and  the 
friendly  covers  of  L' Illustration  and  the  Graphic.  He 
didn't  care  to  talk.  He  liked  to  be  let  alone.  When  he 
came  from  the  office  he  was  generally  dispirited.  Master- 
man's  queer,  contemptuous  manner  was  enough  to  dis- 
courage any  one.  He  was  sure,  too,  that  Claude  and 
Billy  Cheever  ridiculed  his  big,  fat  figure  behind  his  back. 
But  once  he  sank  into  the  deep,  red-leather  arm-chair  he 
was  safe.  It  was  ridiculous  that  a  man  of  his  age  should 
come  to  recognize  the  advantages  of  such  a  refuge,  but 
he  laid  it  to  the  charge  of  a  mean  and  spiteful  world. 

The  world  did  not  cease  to  be  mean  and  spiteful 

27 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

till  after  he  had  had  his  cocktail.  It  was  wonderful  the 
change  that  took  place  then — not  suddenly,  but  with  a 
sweet,  slow,  cheering  inner  transformation.  It  was  a 
surging,  a  glowing,  a  mellowing.  It  was  like  the  read- 
justment of  the  eyes  of  the  soul.  It  was  seeing  the  world 
as  generous,  kindly.  It  was  growing  generous  and  kindly 
himself,  with  the  happy  conviction  that  more  remained 
to  be  got  out  of  life  than  he  had  ever  wrung  from  it. 

Still,  it  was  something  to  be  a  rich  banker.  Every  one 
couldn't  be  that.  Archie  Masterman  had  certainly  pos- 
sessed a  quick  eye  when  he  singled  out  Len  Willoughby 
as  the  man  who  could  put  the  firm  of  Toogood  &  Master- 
man  on  its  feet.  Three  hundred  thousand  dollars  of 
Bessie's  money  had  gone  into  that  business  in  1892,  just 
in  time  to  profit  by  the  panic  of  1893.  Lord,  how  they 
had  bought ! — gilt-edged  stocks  for  next  to  nothing ! — and 
how  they  had  sold,  a  few  years  later!  Len  never  knew 
how  much  money  they  made.  He  supposed  Archie  didn't, 
either.  There  were  years  when  the  Stock  Exchange  had 
been  like  a  wheat-field,  yielding  thirtyfold  and  sixtyfold 
and  a  hundredfold  for  every  seed  they  had  sown.  He  had 
never  attempted  to  keep  a  tally  on  what  came  in;  it  was 
sufficient  to  know  that  there  was  always  plenty  to  take 
out.  Besides,  it  had  been  an  understanding  from  the 
first  that  Archie  was  to  do  the  drudgery.  Len  liked  this, 
because  it  left  him  free — free  for  summers  in  Europe  and 
winters  in  Egypt  or  at  Palm  Beach. 

By  degrees  reminiscence  tended  toward  somnolence. 
And  yet  it  couldn't  be  said  that  Len  slept.  He  kept 
sufficiently  awake  to  put  out  his  hand  from  time  to  time 
and  seize  the  tumbler.  He  could  even  brew  himself 
another  glass.  If  a  brother  clubman  strolled  near  enough 
to  say,  "Hello,  Len!"  or,  "Hello,  Willoughby!"  he  could 
respond  with  a  dull,  "Hello,  Tom!"  or,  "Hello,  Jones!" 
But  he  spoke  as  out  of  a  depth;  he  spoke  with  some  of 
that  weariness  at  being  called  back  to  life  which  Rem- 
brandt depicts  on  the  face  of  Lazarus  rising  from  the  tomb. 

28 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

It  was  delicious  to  sink  away  from  the  prosaic  and  the  bore- 
some,  to  be  so  fully  awake  that  he  could  follow  the  move- 
ment in  the  street  and  the  hopping  of  the  sparrows  in  the 
trees,  and  yet  be,  as  it  were,  removed,  enchanted,  seeing 
and  hearing  and  thinking  and  even  drinking  through  the 
medium  of  a  soothing,  slumbrous  spell. 

It  could  hardly  ever  be  said  that  he  went  beyond  this 
point.  Though  there  were  occasions  on  which  he  mis- 
calculated his  effects,  they  could  generally  be  explained 
as  accidental.  Above  all,  they  didn't  rise  from  an  appe- 
tite for  drink.  The  phrase  was  one  he  was  fond  of;  he 
often  used  it  in  condemning  a  vice  of  which  he  disapproved. 
He  used  it  on  this  particular  afternoon,  when  Thor 
Masterman,  who  had  come  to  drive  him  homeward  in  his 
runabout,  was  sitting  in  the  opposite  arm-chair,  waiting 
to  make  the  start. 

"There's  one  thing  about  me,  Thor — never  had  an 
appetite  for  drink.  Not  to  say  drink.  Thing  I  despise. 
Your  father's  all  wrong  about  me.  Don't  know  what's 
got  into  him.  Thinks  I  take  too  much.  Rot!  That's 
what  it  is — bally  rot!  You  know  that,  Thor,  don't  you? 
Appetite  for  drink  something  I  despise." 

Thor  considered  the  moment  one  to  be  made  use  of. 
"Has  father  been  saying  anything  about  it?" 

"No;  but  he  looks  it.  Suppose  I  don't  know  what  he 
means?  Sees  double,  your  father  does.  Anybody'd 
think,  from  the  way  he  treats  me,  that  I  was  a  disgrace 
to  the  firm.  I'd  like  to  know  what  that  firm  'd  be  without 
me." 

Thor  tried  to  frame  his  next  question  discreetly.  "I 
hope  there's  been  no  suggestion  of  the  firm's  doing  without 
you,  Mr.  Willoughby?" 

To  this  Len  gave  but  an  indirect  reply.  "There'll  be 
one  soon,  if  your  father  doesn't  mind  himself.  I'll  retire 
— and  take  my  money  out.     Where'll  he  be  then?" 

Thor  felt  his  way.  "You've  taken  out  a  good  deal 
already,  haven't  you?" 

29 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Not  any  more  than  belonged  to  me.  You  can  bet 
your  boots  on  that." 

"No;  not  any  more  than  belonged  to  you,  of  course. 
I  was  only  thinking  that  with  the  splendid  house  you've 
built — and  its  up-keep — and  your  general  expenses — 
which  are  pretty  heavy,  aren't  they? — " 

"Not  any  more  than  belonged  to  me,  Thor.  You  can 
bet  your  boots  on  that." 

The  repetition  was  made  drowsily.  The  big  head  of 
bushy  white  hair,  with  its  correlative  of  bushy  white  beard, 
swayed  with  a  slow  movement  that  ended  in  a  jerk.  It 
was  obvious  that  the  warnings  and  admonitions  to  which 
Thor  had  been  leading  up  were  not  for  that  day.  They 
were  useless  even  when,  a  half-hour  later,  the  movement 
of  the  runabout  and  the  keen  air  of  the  high  lands  as  they 
approached  the  village  roused  the  big  creature  to  a  maudlin 
cursing  of  his  luck. 

On  nearing  the  house,  the  delicate  part  of  the  task 
which  of  late  Thor  had  taken  almost  daily  on  himself 
became  imminent.  It  was  to  get  his  charge  into  the 
house,  up  to  his  room,  and  stretched  on  a  couch  without 
being  seen  by  Lois.  Thor  had  once  caught  her  carrying 
out  this  duty  unaided.  She  had  evidently  called  for  her 
father  in  her  mother's  limousine,  and  as  Thor  passed  down 
the  village  street  she  was  helping  the  staggering,  ungainly 
figure  toward  the  door.  The  next  day  Thor  took  his 
runabout  from  the  garage  and  went  on  the  errand  himself. 
He  was  also  more  ingenious  than  she  in  finding  a  way  by 
which  the  sorry  object  could  be  smuggled  indoors.  The 
carriage  entrance  of  the  house  was  too  near  the  street. 
That  it  should  be  so  was  a  trial  to  Mrs.  Willoughby,  who 
would  have  preferred  a  house  standing  in  grounds,  but 
there  never  had  been  any  help  for  it.  When  money  came 
in  it  had  been  Len's  desire  to  buy  back  a  portion  of  the 
old  Willoughby  farm,  and  build  a  mansion  on  what  might 
reasonably  be  called  his  ancestral  estate.  Of  this  property 
there  was  nothing  in  the  market  but  a  snip  along  County 

30 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Street;  and  though  he  was  satisfied  with  the  site  as  en- 
abling him  to  display  his  prosperity  to  every  one  who 
passed  up  and  down,  his  wife  regretted  the  absence  of  a 
dignified  approach. 

By  avoiding  County  Street  when  he  came  out  from  town, 
and  following  a  road  that  scrambled  over  the  low  hillside 
till  it  made  a  juncture  with  Willoughby's  Lane,  by  de- 
scending that  ancient  cow-path  and  bringing  Len  to  the 
privacy  of  his  side-door,  Thor  endeavored  to  keep  his 
father's  partner  from  becoming  an  object  of  public 
scandal.  He  took  this  trouble  not  because  he  bothered 
about  public  scandal  in  itself,  but  in  order  to  protect 
Lois  Willoughby. 

So  far  his  methods  had  been  successful.  They  failed 
to-day  only  because  Lois  herself  was  at  the  side-door. 
With  a  pair  of  garden  shears  in  her  gloved  hands  she  was 
trimming  the  leafless  vine  that  grew  over  the  pillars  of 
the  portico.  Thor  could  see,  as  she  turned  round,  that 
she  braced  herself  to  meet  the  moment's  humiliation, 
speaking  on  the  instant  he  drew  up  at  the  steps. 

"So  good  of  3'ou  to  bring  papa  out  from  town!  I'm 
sure  he's  enjoyed  the  drive."  Her  hand  was  on  the  lever 
that  opened  the  door  of  the  machine.  "Poor  papa! 
You  look  done  up.  I  dare  say  you're  not  well.  Be  care- 
ful, now,"  she  continued,  as  he  lumbered  heavily  to  his 
feet.  'That's  a  long  step  there.  Take  my  hand.  I 
know  you  must  be  as  tired  as  can  be." 

"Dog  tired,"  the  father  complained,  as  he  lowered  him- 
self cautiously.  "Dog's  life.  Tha's  wha'  I  lead.  No 
thanks  for  it,  either.  Damn!"  The  imprecation  was 
necessary  because  he  missed  his  footing  and  came  down 
with  a  jerk.  "Can't  you  see  I'm  gettin'  out?"  he  groaned, 
peevishly.     "Stan'in'  right  in  my  way." 

"Better  leave  him  to  me,"  Thor  whispered.  "I  know 
just  what  to  do  with  him.  One  of  the  advantages  of  being 
a  doctor." 

Willoughby  had  mind  enough  to  clutch  at  this  sugges- 

3i 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

tion.  "  Doctor's  what  I  want,  hang  it  all !  Sick  as  a  dog. 
I  do'  know  what  '11  happen  to  me  some  day.  Head  aches 
fit  to  split.  Never  had  appetite  for  drink.  Tha's  one 
good  thing  about  me." 

Lois  was  still  standing  near  the  portico  when  Thor  had 
assisted  his  charge  to  his  room,  stretched  him  on  a  couch, 
covered  him  with  a  rug,  left  him  in  a  heavy  sleep,  and  crept 
down  the  stairs  again.  It  did  not  escape  his  eye,  quick- 
ened by  the  minutes  he  had  spent  with  Rosie  Fay,  that 
Lois  lacked  color.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  acutely 
observed  the  difference  between  a  plain  woman  and  a 
pretty  one. 

"Oh,  Thor,"  she  began,  as  soon  as  he  came  out,  "I 
don't  know  how  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  papa! 
How  is  it  to  go  on?  Where  is  it  to  end?  Oh,  Thor, 
you're  a  doctor!  Tell  me  what  you  think.  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do?" 

His  kind,  searching  eyes,  as  he  stood  with  one  hand  on 
the  steering-wheel,  rested  on  her  silently.  After  all,  she 
was  twenty-seven,  and  must  take  her  portion  of  life's 
responsibilities.  Besides,  whatever  she  might  have  to  bear 
he  meant  to  share  with  her.  She  should  not  be  obliged, 
like  Rosie  Fay,  for  instance,  to  carry  her  load  alone. 

And  yet  she  didn't  look  as  if  she  would  shirk  her  part. 
With  that  tall,  erect  figure,  delicate  in  outline  but  strong 
with  the  freedom  of  an  open-air  life,  that  proud  head 
which  was  nevertheless  carried  meekly,  and  that  straight- 
forward gaze,  she  gave  the  impression  of  being  ready  to 
meet  anything.  The  face  might  be  irregular,  lacking  in 
many  of  the  tender  prettinesses  as  natural  to  other  girls, 
even  at  twenty-seven,  as  flowers  to  a  field;  but  no  one 
could  deny  its  force  of  character. 

"I'll  tell  you  something  you  could  do,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"You  could  see — or  try  to  see — that  he  doesn't  spend 
too  much."  A  slight  pause  marked  his  hesitation  before 
adding,  "That  no  one  spends  too  much." 

32 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"You  mean  mamma  and  me?" 

He  smiled  faintly.  "I  mean  whoever  does  the  spend- 
ing— but  your  father  most  of  all,  because  I'm  afraid  he's 
rather  reckless.  He's  spent  a  good  deal  during  the  last 
twelve  or  fifteen  years,  hasn't  he?" 

She  was  very  quick.  "More  than  he  had  a  right  to 
spend?" 

"Well,  more  than  my  father,"  he  felt  it  safe  to  say. 

"But  he  had  more  than  your  father  to  spend,  hadn't 
he?" 

"Do  you  know  that  for  a  certainty?" 

"I  only  know  it  from  papa  himself.  But,  oh,  Thor, 
what  is  it?     Why  are  you  asking?" 

He  ignored  these  questions  to  say:  "Couldn't  your 
mother  tell  us?     After  all,  it  was  her  money,  wasn't  it?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  mamma  wouldn't  know. 
If  you're  in  any  doubt  about  it,  why  don't  you  ask  Mr. 
Masterman?  He  could  tell  you  better  than  any  one. 
Besides,  mamma  isn't  in." 

He  spoke  with  a  touch  of  scorn.  "I  suppose  she's  in 
town." 

The  tone  evoked  on  Lois's  part  a  little  smile.  They 
had  had  battles  on  the  subject  before.  "That's  just 
where  she  is." 

"That's  just  where  she  always  is." 

"Oh  no;  not  always.  Sometimes  she  stays  at  home. 
But  she's  there  pretty  often,  I  admit.  She  has  to  make 
calls,  partly  because  I  won't — when  I  can  help  it." 

He  spoke  approvingly.  "You,  at  any  rate,  don't  fritter 
away  your  time  like  other  women." 

"It  depends  on  what  other  women  you  mean.  I 
fritter  away  my  time  like  some  women,  even  though  it 
isn't  like  the  women  who  make  calls.  I  play  golf,  for 
instance,  and  tennis;    I  even  ride." 

"All  the  same,  you  don't  like  the  silly  thing  called 
society  any  more  than  I  do." 

There  was  daylight  enough  to  show  him  the  blaze  of 

33 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

bravado  in  her  eyes.  Her  way  of  holding  her  head  had  a 
certain  daring — the  daring  of  one  too  frank,  perhaps 
too  proud,  to  shrink  at  truth.  "Oh,  I  don't  know.  I 
dare  say  I  should  have  liked  society  well  enough  if  society 
had  liked  me.  But  it  didn't.  As  mamma  says,  I  wasn't 
a  success."  To  compel  him  to  view  her  in  all  her  lack 
of  charm,  she  added,  with  a  persistent  smile,  "You  know 
that,  don't  you?" 

He  did  know  it,  though  he  could  hardly  say  so.  He  had 
heard  Claude  descant  on  the  subject  many  a  time  in  the 
years  when  Lois  was  still  putting  in  a  timid  appearance 
at  dances.  Claude  was  interested  in  everything  that 
had  to  do  with  girls,  from  their  clothes  to  their  com- 
plexions. 

"Can't  make  it  out,"  he  would  say  at  breakfast,  after 
a  party;  "dances  well;  dresses  well;  but  doesn't  take. 
Fellows  afraid  of  her.  Everybody  shy  of  a  girl  who  isn't 
popular.  Hasn't  enough  devil.  Girl  ought  to  have  some 
devil,  hang  it  all!  Dance  with  her  myself?  Well,  I 
do — about  three  times  a  year.  Have  her  left  on  my 
hands  an  hour  at  a  time.  Fellow  can't  afford  that. 
Think  we  have  no  chivalry?  Should  come  to  dances 
yourself,  old  chap.  You'd  be  a  godsend  to  the  girls  in  the 
dump." 

Thor's  dancing  days  were  over  before  Lois's  had  begun, 
but  he  could  imagine  what  they  had  been  to  her.  He 
could  look  back  over  the  four  or  five  years  that  separated 
her  from  the  ordeal,  and  still  see  her  in  "the  dump" — 
tall,  timid,  furtively  watching  the  young  men  with  those 
swimming  brown  orbs  of  hers,  wondering  whether  or  not 
she  should  have  a  partner;  heartsore  under  her  finery, 
often  driving  homeward  in  the  weary  early  hours  with 
tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  He  knew  as  much 
about  it  as  if  he  had  been  with  her.  He  suffered  for  her 
retrospectively.  He  did  it  to  a  degree  that  made  his  long 
face  sorrowful. 

The    sorrow    caused    Lois    some    impatience.     "For 

34 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

mercy's  sake,  Thor,  don't  look  at  me  like  that!    It  isn't 
as  bad  as  you  seem  to  think.     I  don't  mind  it." 

"But  I  do,"  he  declared,  with  indignation,  only  to  feel 
that  he  was  slowly  coloring. 

He  colored  because  the  statement  brought  him  within 
measurable  distance  of  a  declaration  which  he  meant  to 
make,  but  for  which  he  was  not  ready. 

She  seemed  to  divine  his  embarrassment,  speaking 
with  forced  lightness.  "Please  don't  waste  your  sym- 
pathy on  me.  If  any  one's  to  be  pitied,  it's  mamma. 
I'm  such  a  disappointment  to  her.  Let's  talk  of  some- 
thing else.  Where  have  you  been  to-day,  and  what  have 
you  been  doing?" 

He  was  not  blind  to  her  tact,  counting  it  to  her  credit 
for  the  future,  and  asked  abruptly  if  she  knew  Fay,  the 
gardener. 

"Fay,  the  gardener?"  she  echoed.  "I  know  who  he 
is."  She  went  more  directly  to  the  point  in  saying,  "I 
know  his  daughter." 

"Well,  she's  having  a  hard  time." 

"Is  she?     I  should  think  she  might." 

His  face  grew  keener.     "Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  —  she's  that  sort.  At  least,  I 
should  judge  she  was  that  sort  from  the  little  I've  seen 
of  her." 

"How  much  have  you  seen  of  her?" 

"Almost  nothing;  but  little  as  it  was,  it  impressed 
itself  on  my  mind.  I  went  to  see  her  once  at  Mr.  Whit- 
ney's suggestion." 

"Whitney?  He's  the  rector  at  St.  John's,  isn't  he? 
What  had  he  to  do  with  her?  She  doesn't  belong  to  his 
church?" 

Lois  explained.  "It  was  when  we  established  the 
branch  of  the  Girl's  Friendly  Society  at  St.  John's. 
Mr.  Whitney  thought  she  might  care  to  join  it." 

"And  did  she?" 

"No;   quite  the  other  way.     When  I  went  to  ask  her, 

35 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

she  resented  it.     She  had  an  idea  I  was  patronizing  her. 
That's  the  difficulty  in  approaching  girls  like  that." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  challenging  expression.  "Girls 
like  what?" 

"I  suppose  I  mean  girls  who  haven't  much  money — or 
who've  got  to  work." 

He  still  challenged  her,  his  head  thrown  back.  "They 
probably  don't  consider  themselves  inferior  to  you  for 
that  reason.     It  wouldn't  be  American  if  they  did." 

"And  it  wouldn't  be  American  if  I  did;  and  I  don't. 
They  only  make  me  feel  so  because  they  feel  it  so  strongly 
themselves.  That's  what's  not  American;  and  it  isn't 
on  my  part,  but  on  theirs.  They  force  their  sentiment 
back  on  me.  They  make  me  patronizing  whether  I  will 
or  no." 

"And  were  you  patronizing  when  you  went  to  see  Miss 
Fay?" 

To  conceal  the  slightly  irritated  attentiveness  with 
which  he  waited  for  her  reply  he  began  to  light  his  motor 
lamps.  Condescension  toward  Rosie  Fay  suddenly  struck 
him  as  offensive,  no  matter  from  whom  it  came. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  indifferently. 
"There  was  something  about  her  that  disconcerted 
me. 

"She's  as  good  as  we  are,"  he  declared,  snapping  the 
little  door  of  one  of  the  lanterns. 

"I  don't  deny  that." 

"A  generation  or  two  ago  we  were  all  farming  people 
together.  The  Willoughbys  and  the  Brands  and  the 
Thorleys  and  the  Fays  were  on  an  equal  footing.  They 
worked  for  one  another  and  intermarried.  The  progress 
of  the  country  has  taken  some  of  us  and  hurled  us  up, 
while  it  has  seized  others  of  us  and  smashed  us  down; 
but  we  should  try  to  get  over  that  when  it  comes  to  human 
intercourse." 

'That's  what  I  was  doing  when  I  asked  her  to  join  our 
Friendly  Society." 

36 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Pff!  The  deuce  you  were!  I  know  your  friendly 
societies.  Keep  those  who  are  down  down.  Help  the 
humble  to  be  humbler  by  making  them  obsequious." 

"You  know  nothing  at  all  about  it,"  she  declared, 
with  spirit.  "In  trying  to  make  things  better  you're 
content  to  spin  theories,  while  we  put  something  into 
practice." 

He  snapped  the  door  of  the  second  lamp  with  a  little 
bang.  "  Put  something  into  practice,  with  the  result  that 
people  resent  it." 

"With  the  result  that  Rosie  Fay  resented  it;  but  she's 
not  a  fair  example.  She's  proud  and  rebellious  and  in- 
tense.    I  never  saw  any  one  just  like  her." 

"You  probably  never  saw  any  one  who  had  to  be  like 
her  because  they'd  had  her  luck.  Look  here,  Lois,"  he 
said,  with  sudden  earnestness,  "I  want  you  to  be  a  friend 
to  that  girl." 

She  opened  her  eyes  in  mild  surprise  at  his  intensity. 
"There's  nothing  I  should  like  better,  if  I  knew  how." 

"  But  you  do  know  how.  It's  easy  enough.  Treat  her 
as  you  would  a  girl  in  your  own  class — Elsie  Darling,  for 
instance." 

"It's  not  so  simple  as  that.  When  Elsie  Darling  came 
back  after  five  or  six  years  abroad  mamma  and  I  drove  into 
town  and  called  on  her.  She  wasn't  in,  and  we  left  our 
cards.  Later,  we  invited  her  to  lunch  or  to  dinner.  I 
should  be  perfectly  willing  to  go  through  the  same  formal- 
ities with  Miss  Fay — only  she'd  think  it  queer.  It  would 
be  queer.  It  would  be  queer  because  she  hasn't  got — 
what  shall  I  say? — she  hasn't  got  the  social  machinery 
for  that  kind  of  ceremoniousness.  The  machinery  means 
the  method  of  approach,  and  with  people  who  have  to 
live  as  she  does  it's  the  method  of  approach  that  presents 
the  difficulty.     It's  not  as  easy  as  it  looks." 

"Very  well,  then;  let  us  admit  that  it's  hard.  The 
harder  it  is  the  more  it's  the  job  for  you." 

There  was  an  illuminating  quality  in  her  smile  that 

37 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

atoned  for  lack  of  beauty.     "Oh,  if  you  put  it  in  that 
way — " 

"I  do  put  it  in  that  way,"  he  declared,  with  an  earnest- 
ness toned  down  by  what  was  almost  wistfulness.  ' '  There 
are  so  many  things  in  which  I  want  help,  Lois — and  you're 
the  one  to  help  me." 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  characteristic  frankness. 
"I'll  do  anything  I  can,  Thor.  Just  tell  me  what  you 
want  me  to  do  when  you  want  me  to  do  it — and  I'll  try." 

"Oh,  there'll  be  a  lot  of  things  in  which  we  shall  have 
to  pull  together,"  he  said,  as  he  held  her  hand.  "I  want 
you  to  remember,  if  ever  any  trouble  comes,  that" — he 
hesitated  for  a  word  that  wouldn't  say  too  much  for  the 
moment— "that  I'll  be  there." 

' '  Thank  you,  Thor.     That's  a  great  comfort. ' ' 

She  withdrew  her  hand  quietly.  Quietly,  too,  she  as- 
sured him,  as  she  moved  toward  the  steps,  that  she  would 
not  fail  to  force  herself  again  on  Rosie  Fay.  "And  about 
that  other  matter — the  one  you  spoke  of  first — you'll  tell 
me  more  by  and  by,  won't  you?" 

After  her  capacity  for  ringing  true,  his  conscientiousness 
prompted  him  to  let  her  see  that  she  could  feel  quite  sure 
of  him.  "I'll  tell  you  anything  I  can  find  out ;  and  one  of 
these  days,  Lois,  I  must — I  must — say  a  lot  more." 

^  She  mounted  a  step  or  two  without  turning  away  from 
him.  "Oh,  well,"  she  said,  lightly,  as  though  dismissing  a 
topic  of  no  importance,  "there'll  be  plenty  of  time." 

But  her  smile  was  a  happy  one — so  happy  that  he  who 
smiled  rarely  smiled  back  at  her  from  the  runabout. 

He  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  know  as  yet  that  his 
pleasure  was  not  in  any  happiness  of  hers,  but  in  the  help 
she  might  bring  to  a  little  creature  whose  image  had 
haunted  him  all  the  afternoon— a  little  creature  whose 
desperate  flower-like  face  looked  up  at  him  from  a  back- 
ground of  poinsettias. 


CHAPTER  V 

ON  coming  to  the  table  that  evening  Claude  begged 
his  mother  to  excuse  him  for  not  having  dressed  for 
dinner,  on  the  ground  that  he  had  an  engagement  with 
Billy  Cheever.  Mrs.  Masterman  pardoned  him  with  a 
gracious  inclination  of  the  head  that  made  her  diamond 
ear-rings  sparkle.  No  one  in  the  room  could  be  unaware 
that  she  disapproved  of  Claude's  informality.  Not  only 
did  it  shock  her  personal  delicacy  to  dine  with  men  who 
concealed  their  shirt-bosoms  under  the  waistcoats  they 
had  worn  all  day,  but  it  contravened  the  aims  by  which 
during  her  entire  married  life  she  had  endeavored  to 
elevate  the  society  around  her.  She  herself  was  one  to 
whom  the  refinements  were  as  native  as  foliage  to  a  tree. 
"It's  all  right,  Claudie  dear;  but  you  do  know  I  like  you 
to  dress  for  the  evening,  don't  you?"  Without  waiting 
for  the  younger  son  to  speak,  she  continued  graciously 
to  the  elder:  "And  you,  Thor.  What  have  you  been 
doing  with  yourself  to-day?" 

Her  polite  inclusion  of  her  stepson  was  meant  to  start 
"her  men,"  as  she  called  them,  in  the  kind  of  conversation 
in  which  men  were  most  at  ease,  that  which  concerned 
themselves.  Thor  replied  while  consuming  his  soup  in 
the  manner  acquired  in  Parisian  and  Viennese  restaurants 
frequented  by  young  men : 

"Got  a  patient." 

Hastily  Claude  introduced  a  subject  of  his  own.  ' '  Ought 
to  go  and  see  'The  Champion,'  father.  Hear  it's  awfully 
good.     Begins  with  a  prize-fight — " 

39 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

But  the  father's  attention  was  given  to  Thor.  "Who've 
you  picked  up?" 

"Fay's  wife — Fay,  the  gardener." 

" Indeed?     Have  to  whistle  for  your  fee." 

"Oh,  I  know  that—" 

"Thor,  please!"  Mrs.  Masterman  begged.  "Don't  eat 
so  fast." 

"If  you  know  it  already,"  the  father  continued,  "I 
should  think  you'd  have  tried  to  squeak  out  of  it."  He 
said  "know  it  alweady"  and  "twied  to  squeak,"  owing  to 
a  difficulty  with  the  letter  r  which  gave  an  appealing, 
childlike  quality  to  his  speech.  "  If  you  start  in  by  taking 
patients  who  are  not  going  to  pay — " 

Claude  sought  another  diversion.  "What  does  it  mat- 
ter to  Thor?  In  three  months'  time  he'll  be  able  to  pay 
sick  people  for  coming  to  him — what?" 

"That's  not  the  point,"  Masterman  explained.  "A 
doctor  has  no  right  to  pauperize  people  " — he  said  "  pauper- 
wize  people" — "any  more  than  any  one  else." 

"Oh,  as  to  that,"  Thor  said,  forcing  himself  to  eat 
slowly  and  sit  straight  in  the  style  commended  by  his 
stepmother,  "it  won't  need  a  doctor  to  pauperize  poor 
Fay." 

"Quite  right  there,"  his  father  agreed.  "He's  done  it 
himself." 

Thor  considered  the  moment  a  favorable  one  for 
making  his  appeal.  "Claude  and  I  have  been  talking 
him  over—" 

"The  devil  we  have!"  Claude  exclaimed,  indignantly. 

"What's  that?"  Masterman's  handsome  face,  which 
after  his  day's  work  was  likely  to  be  gray  and  lifeless,  grew 
sharply  interrogative.  Time  had  chiseled  it  to  an  in- 
cisiveness  not  incongruous  with  a  lingering  air  of  youth. 
His  hair,  mustache,  and  imperial  were  but  touched  with 
gray.  His  figure  was  still  lithe  and  spare.  It  was  the 
custom  to  say  of  him  that  he  looked  but  the  brother  of  his 
two  strapping  sons. 

40 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Claude  emphasized  his  annoyance.  ' '  Talking  him  over ! 
I  like  that!  You  blow  into  the  office  just  as  I'm  ready  to 
come  home,  and  begin  cross-questioning  me  about  father's 
affairs.  I  tell  you  I  don't  know  anything  about  them.  If 
you  call  that  talking  him  over — well,  you're  welcome  to 
your  own  use  of  terms." 

The  head  of  the  house  busied  himself  in  carving  the 
joint  which  had  been  placed  before  him.  "If  you  want 
information,  Thor,  ask  me." 

"I  don't  want  information,  father;  and  I  don't  think 
Claude  is  fair  in  saying  I  cross-questioned  him.  I  only 
said  that  I  thought  he  and  I  ought  to  do  what  we  could 
to  get  you  to  renew  Fay's  lease." 

"Oh,  did  you?  Then  I  can  save  you  the  trouble,  be- 
cause I'm  not  going  to." 

The  declaration  was  so  definite  that  it  left  Thor  with 
nothing  to  say.  "Poor  old  Fay  has  worked  pretty  hard, 
hasn't  he?"  he  ventured  at  last. 

"Possibly.     So  have  I." 

"But  with  the  difference  that  you've  been  prosperous, 
and  he  hasn't." 

Masterman  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Which  is  the 
difference  between  me  and  a  good  many  other  people. 
You  don't  blame  me  for  that?" 

"It's  not  a  question  of  blaming  any  one,  father.  I 
only  supposed  that  among  Americans  it  was  the  correct 
thing  for  the  lucky  ones  to  come  to  the  aid  of  the  less 
fortunate." 

"Take  it  that  I'm  doing  that  for  Fay  when  I  get  him 
out  of  an  impossible  situation." 

Thor  smiled  ruefully.  "When  you  get  him  out  of  the 
frying-pan  into  the  fire?" 

"Well,"  Claude  challenged,  coming  to  his  father's  aid, 
"the  fire's  no  worse  than  the  frying-pan,  and  may  be  a 
little  better." 

"I've  seen  the  girl,"  Mrs.  Masterman  contributed  to  the 
discussion.     "She's  been  in  the  greenhouse  when  I've  gone 
4  41 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

to  buy  flowers.  I  must  say  she  didn't  strike  me  very 
favorably. ' '  The  two  brothers  exchanged  glances  without 
knowing  why.  "She  seemed  to  me  so  much— so  very 
much — above  her  station." 

"What  is  her  station?"  Thor  asked,  bridling.     "Her 
station's  the  same  as  ours,  isn't  it?" 

The  father  was  amused.  "The  same  as  what?" 
"Surely  we're  all  much  of  a  muchness.  Most  of  us 
were  farmers  and  market-gardeners  up  to  forty  or  fifty 
years  ago.  I've  heard,"  he  went  on,  utilizing  the  informa- 
tion he  had  received  that  afternoon,  "that  the  Thorleys 
used  to  hire  out  to  the  Fays." 

"Oh,  the  Thorleys!"  Mrs.  Masterman  smiled. 
"The  Mastermans  didn't,"  Archie  said,  gently.     "You 
won't  forget  that,  my  boy.     Whatever  you  may  be  on  any 
other  side,  you  come  from  a  line  of  gentlemen  on  mine. 
Your  grandfather  Masterman  was  one  of  the  best-known 
old-school  physicians  in  this  part  of  the  country.     His 
father  before  him  was  a  Church  of  England  clergyman  in 
Derbyshire,  who  migrated  to  America  because  he'd  be- 
come a  Unitarian.     Sort  of  idealist.     Lot  of  'em  in  those 
days.     Time  of  Napoleon  and  Southey  and  Coleridge  and 
all  that.     Thought  that  because  America  was  a  so-called 
republic,  or  a  so-called  democracy,  he'd  find  people  living 
for  one  another,  and  they  were  just  looking  out  for  num- 
ber one  like  every  one  else.     Your  Uncle  Sim  takes  after 
him.    Died  of  a  broken  heart,  I  believe,  because  he  didn't 
find  the  world  made  over  new.     But  you  see  the  sort  of 
well-born,  high-minded  stock  you  sprang  from." 

Thor  lifted  his  big  frame  to  an  erect  position,  throwing 
back  his  head.  "  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  what  I  sprang  from, 
father.  I  don't  even  care  much  for  what  I  am.  It  strikes 
me  as  far  more  important  to  see  that  our  old  friends  and 
neighbors — who  are  just  as  good  as  we  are — don't  have 
to  go  under  when  we  can  keep  them  up." 

"Yes,  when  we  can,"  Thor's  father  said,  with  unper- 
turbed gentleness;  "but  very  often  we  can't.     In  a  world 

42 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

where  every  one's  swimming  for  his  own  dear  life,  those 
who  can't  swim  have  got  to  drown." 

"But  every  one  is  not  swimming  for  his  own  dear  life. 
Most  of  us  are  safe  on  shore.  You  and  I  are,  for  example. 
And  when  we  are,  it  seems  to  me  the  least  we  can  do  is  to 
fling  a  life-preserver  to  the  poor  chaps  who  are  throwing 
up  their  hands  and  sinking." 

Mrs.  Masterman  rallied  her  stepson  indulgently.  "  Oh, 
Thor,  how  ridiculous  you  are!    How  you  talk!" 

Claude  patted  his  mother's  hand.  He  was  still  trying 
to  turn  attention  from  bearing  too  directly  on  the  Fays. 
"Don't  listen  to  him,  mumphy.  Beastly  socialist,  that's 
what  he  is.  Divide  up  all  the  money  in  the  world  so  that 
everybody  '11  have  thirty  cents,  and  then  tell  'em  to  go 
ahead  and  live  regardless.  That  'd  be  his  way  of  doing 
things." 

But  the  father  was  more  just.  "Oh  no,  it  wouldn't. 
Thor's  no  fool!  Has  some  excellent  ideas.  A  little 
exaggerated,  perhaps,  but  that  '11  cure  itself  in  time. 
Fault  of  youth.  Good  fault,  too."  He  turned  affection- 
ately to  his  elder  son.  "Rather  see  you  that  way,  my 
boy,  than  with  an  empty  head." 

Thor  fell  silent,  from  a  sense  of  the  futility  of  talking. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT  the  moment  when  Claude  was  excusing  himself 
i  further,  begging  to  be  allowed  to  run  away  so  as 
not  to  keep  Billy  Cheever  waiting,  Rosie  Fay  was  noticing 
with  relief  that  her  mother  was  asleep  at  last.  Thor's 
sedative  had  taken  effect  in  what  the  girl  considered  the 
nick  of  time.  Having  smoothed  the  pillow,  adjusted  the 
patchwork  quilt,  and  placed  the  small  kerosene  hand-lamp 
on  a  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  so  as  to  shade  it  from  the 
sleeper's  eyes,  she  slipped  down-stairs. 

She  wore  a  long,  rough  coat.  Over  her  hair  she  had 
flung  a  scarf  of  some  gauzy  green  stuff  that  heightened  her 
color.  The  lamplight,  or  some  inner  flame  of  her  own, 
drew  opalescent  gleams  from  her  gray-greenish  eyes  as  she 
descended.  She  was  no  longer  the  desperate,  petulant 
little  Rosie  of  the  afternoon.  Her  face  was  aglow  with 
an  eager  life.  The  difference  was  that  between  a  blossom 
wilting  for  lack  of  water  and  the  same  flower  fed  by  rain. 

In  the  tiny  living-room  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  her 
father  was  eating  the  supper  she  had  laid  out  for  him. 
It  was  a  humble  supper,  spread  on  the  end  of  a  table 
covered  with  a  cheap  cotton  cloth  of  a  red  and  sky-blue 
mixture.  Jasper  Fay,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  munched  his 
cold  meat  and  sipped  his  tea  while  he  entertained  himself 
with  a  book  propped  against  a  loaf  of  bread.  Another 
small  kerosene  hand-lamp  threw  its  light  on  the  printed 
page  and  illumined  his  mild,  clear-cut,  clean-shaven  face. 

"She's  asleep,"  Rosie  whispered  from  the  doorway. 
"  If  she  wakes  while  I'm  gone  you  must  give  her  the  second 
dose.     I've  left  it  on  the  wash-stand." 

44 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

The  man  lifted  his  starry  blue  eyes.  "You  going 
out?" 

"I'm  only  going  for  a  little  while." 

"Couldn't  you  have  gone  earlier?" 

"How  could  I,  when  I  had  supper  to  get — and  every- 
thing?" 

He  looked  uneasy.  "I  don't  like  you  to  be  running 
round  these  dark  roads,  my  dear.  You've  been  doing  it  a 
good  deal  lately.     Where  is  it  you  go?" 

"Why,  father,  what  nonsense!  Here  I  am  cooped  up 
all  day—" 

He  sighed.  "  Very  well,  my  dear.  I  know  you  haven't 
much  pleasure.  But  things  will  be  different  soon,  I  hope. 
The  new  night  fireman  seems  a  good  man,  and  I  expect 
we'll  do  better  now.  He'll  be  here  at  ten.  Were  you 
going  far?" 

She  answered  promptly.  "Only  to  Polly  Wilson's. 
She  wants  me  to"  —  Rosie  turned  over  in  her  mind 
the  various  interests  on  which  Polly  Wilson  might 
desire  to  consult  her — "she  wants  me  to  see  her  new 
dress." 

"Very  well,  my  dear,  but  I  hope  after  this  evening 
you'll  be  able  to  do  your  errands  in  the  daytime.  You 
know  how  it  was  with  Matt.  If  he  hadn't  gone  roaming 
the  streets  at  night — " 

Rosie  came  close  to  the  table.  Her  face  was  resolute. 
"Father,  I'm  not  Matt.  I  know  what  I'm  doing."  She 
added,  with  increased  determination,  "I'm  acting  for  the 
best." 

He  was  mildly  surprised.  "Acting  for  the  best  in  going 
to  see  Polly  Wilson's  new  dress?" 

She  ignored  this.  "I'm  twenty-three,  father.  I've  got 
to  follow  my  own  judgment.  If  I've  a  chance  I  must  use 
it." 

"What  sort  of  a  chance,  my  dear?" 

"There's  nothing  to  hope  for  here,"  she  went  on,  cruelly, 
"except  from  what  I  can  do  myself.     Mother's  no  good; 

45 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

and  Matt's  worse  than  if  he  was  dead.  I  wish  to  God  he 
would  die — before  he  comes  out.  And  you  know  what 
you  are,  father." 

"I  do  the  best  I  can,  my  dear,"  he  said,  humbly. 

"I  know  you  do;  but  we  can  all  see  what  that  is. 
Everybody  else  is  going  ahead  but  us." 

"Oh  no,  they're  not,  my  dear.  There  are  lots  that  fall 
behind  as  bad  as  we  do — and  worse." 

She  shook  her  head  fiercely.  "No,  not  worse.  They 
couldn't.  And  whatever's  to  be  done,  I've  got  to  do  it. 
If  I  don't — or  if  I  can't — well,  we  might  as  well  give  up. 
So  you  mustn't  try  to  stop  me,  father.  I  know  what  I'm 
doing.  It's  for  your  sake  and  everybody's  sake  as  much 
as  for  my  own." 

He  dropped  his  eyes  to  his  book,  in  seeming  admission 
that  he  had  no  tenable  ground  on  which  to  meet  her  in  a 
conflict  of  wills.  "Very  well,  my  dear,"  he  sighed.  "If 
you're  going  to  Polly  Wilson's  you'd  better  be  off.  You'll 
be  home  by  ten,  won't  you?  I  must  go  then  to  show 
the  new  fireman  his  way  about  the  place." 

Outside  it  was  a  windy  night,  but  not  a  cold  one. 
Shreds  of  dark  cloud  scudded  across  the  face  of  a  three- 
quarters  moon,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  traveling 
through  the  sky  at  an  incredible  rate  of  speed.  In  the 
south  wind  there  was  the  tang  of  ocean  salt,  mingled 
with  the  sweeter  scents  of  woodland  and  withered  garden 
nearer  home.  There  was  a  crackling  of  boughs  in  the  old 
apple-trees,  and  from  the  ridge  behind  the  house  came 
the  deep,  soft,  murmurous  soughing  of  pines. 

If  Rosie  lingered  on  the  door-step  it  was  not  because 
she  was  afraid  of  the  night  sounds  or  of  the  dark.  She  was 
restrained  for  a  minute  by  a  sense  of  terror  at  what  she 
was  about  to  do.  It  was  not  a  new  terror.  She  felt  it  on 
every  occasion  when  she  went  forth  to  keep  this  tryst. 
As  she  had  already  said  to  her  father,  she  knew  what  she 
was  doing.     She  was  neither  so  young  nor  so  inexperienced 

46  " 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

as  to  be  unaware  of  the  element  of  danger  that  waited 
on  her  steps.  No  one  could  have  told  her  better  than  she 
could  have  told  herself  that  the  voice  of  wise  counsel 
would  have  bidden  her  stay  at  home.  But  if  she  was  not 
afraid  of  the  night,  neither  was  she  irresolute  before  the 
undertaking.  Being  forewarned,  she  was  forearmed.  Be- 
ing forearmed,  she  could  run  the  risks.  Running  the 
risks,  she  could  enjoy  the  excitement  and  find  solace  in 
the  romance. 

For  it  was  romance,  romance  of  the  sort  she  had  dreamed 
of  and  planned  for  and  got  herself  ready  to  be  equal  to, 
if  ever  it  should  come.  Somehow,  she  had  always  known 
it  would  come.  She  could  hardly  go  back  to  the  time 
when  she  did  not  have  this  premonition  of  a  lover  who 
would  appear  like  a  prince  in  a  fairy-tale  and  lift  her  out 
of  her  low  estate. 

And  he  had  come.  He  had  come  late  on  an  afternoon 
in  the  preceding  summer,  when  she  was  picking  wild 
raspberries  in  the  wood  above  Duck  Rock.  It  was  a 
lonely  spot  in  which  she  could  reasonably  have  expected 
to  be  undisturbed.  She  was  picking  the  berries  fast  and 
deftly,  because  the  fruitman  who  passed  in  the  morning 
would  give  her  a  dollar  for  her  harvest.  Was  it  the  dollar, 
or  was  it  the  sweet,  wandering,  summer  air?  Was  it  the 
mingled  perfumes  of  vine  and  fruit  and  soft  loam  loosened 
as  she  crept  among  the  brambles,  or  was  it  the  shimmer 
of  the  waning  sunlight  or  the  whir  of  the  wings  of  birds 
or  the  note  of  a  hermit-thrush  in  some  still  depth  of  the 
woodland  ever  so  far  away  ?  Or  was  it  only  because  she 
was  young  and  invincibly  happy  at  times,  in  spite  of  a 
sore  heart,  that  she  sang  to  herself  as  her  nimble  fingers 
secured  the  juicy,  delicate  red  things  and  dropped  them 
into  the  pan? 

He  came  like  Pan,  or  a  faun,  or  any  other  woodland 
thing,  with  no  sound  of  his  approach,  not  even  that  of 
oaten  pipes.  When  she  raised  her  eyes  he  was  standing 
in  a  patch  of  bracken.     She  had  been  stooping  to  gather 

47 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

the  fruit  that  clustered  on  a  long,  low,  spiny  stem.  The 
words  on  her  lips  had  been  : 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown 
If  love  it  may  na  be — 

but  her  voice  trailed  away  faintly  on  the  last  syllable, 
for  on  looking  up  he  was  before  her.  He  wore  white 
flannels,  and  a  Panama  hat  of  which  the  brim  was  roguishly 
pulled  down  in  front  to  shade  his  eyes. 

He  was  smiling  unabashed,  and  yet  with  a  friendliness 
that  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  take  offense.  "  Isn't  it 
Rosie?"  he  asked,  without  moving  from  where  he  stood  in 
the  patch  of  trampled  bracken.  "I'm  Claude.  Don't  you 
remember  me?" 

A  Delphic  nymph  who  had  been  addressed  by  Apollo, 
in  the  seclusion  of  some  sacred  grove,  could  hardly  have 
felt  more  joyous  or  more  dumb.  Rosie  Fay  did  not  know 
in  what  kind  of  words  to  answer  the  glistening  being  who 
had  spoken  to  her  with  this  fine  familiarity.  Later,  in 
the  silence  of  the  night,  she  blushed  with  shame  to  think 
of  the  figure  she  must  have  cut,  standing  speechless  before 
him,  the  pan  of  red  raspberries  in  her  hands,  her  raspberry- 
red  lips  apart  in  amazement,  and  her  eyes  gleaming  and 
wide  with  awe. 

She  remained  vague  as  to  what  she  answered  in  the  end. 
It  was  confusedly  to  the  effect  that  though  she  remem- 
bered him  well  enough,  she  supposed  that  he  had  long  ago 
forgotten  one  so  insignificant  as  herself.  Presently  he  was 
beside  her,  dropping  raspberries  into  her  pan,  while  they 
laughed  together  as  in  those  early  days  when  they  had 
picked  peas  by  her  father's  permission  in  Grandpa  Thor- 
ley's  garden. 

Their  second  meeting  was  accidental — if  it  was  acci- 
dental that  each  had  come  to  the  same  spot,  at  the  same 
hour,  on  the  following  day,  in  the  hope  of  finding  the 
other.     The  third  meeting  was  also  on  the  same  spot, 

48 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

but  by  appointment,  in  secret,  and  at  night.  Claude 
had  been  careful  to  impress  on  her  the  disaster  that  would 
ensue  if  their  romance  were  discovered. 

But  Rosie  Fay  knew  what  she  was  doing.  She  re- 
peated that  statement  often  to  herself.  Had  she  really 
been  a  Delphic  nymph,  or  even  a  young  lady  of  the  best 
society,  she  might  have  given  herself  without  reserve  to 
the  rapture  of  her  idyl;  but  her  circumstances  were 
peculiar.  Rosie  was  obliged  to  be  practical,  to  look 
ahead.  A  fairy  prince  was  not  only  a  romantic  dream 
in  her  dreary  life,  but  an  agency  to  be  utilized.  The  least 
self-seeking  of  drowning  maids  might  expect  the  hero 
on  the  bank  to  pull  her  out  of  the  water.  The  very  fact 
that  she  recognized  in  Claude  a  tendency  to  dally  with 
her  on  the  brink  instead  of  landing  her  in  a  place  of  safety 
compelled  her  to  be  the  more  astute. 

But  she  was  not  so  astute  as  to  be  inaccessible  to  the 
sense  of  terror  that  assailed  her  every  time  she  went  to 
meet  him.  It  was  the  fright  of  one  accustomed  to  walk 
on  earth  when  seized  and  borne  into  the  air.  Claude's 
voice  over  the  telephone,  as  she  had  heard  it  that  after- 
noon, was  like  the  call  to  adventures  at  once  enthralling 
and  appalling,  in  which  she  found  it  hard  to  keep  her  head. 
She  kept  it  only  by  saying  to  herself:  " I  know  what  I'm 
doing.  I  know  what  I'm  doing.  My  father  is  ruined; 
my  brother  is  in  jail.  But  I  love  this  man  and  he  loves 
me.     If  he  marries  me — " 

But  Rosie's  thoughts  broke  off  abruptly  there.  They 
broke  off  because  they  reached  a  point  beyond  which 
imagination  would  not  carry  her.  If  he  marries  me! 
The  supposition  led  her  where  all  was  blurred  and  roseate 
and  golden,  like  the  mists  around  the  Happy  Isles.  Rosie 
could  not  forecast  the  conditions  that  would  be  hers  as 
the  wife  of  Claude  Masterman.  She  only  knew  that  she 
would  be  transported  into  an  atmosphere  of  money,  and 
money  she  had  learned  by  sore  experience  to  be  the  sov- 
ereign palliative  of  care.     Love  was  much  to  poor  Rosie, 

49 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

but  relief  from  anxiety  was  more.  It  had  to  be  so,  since 
both  love  and  light  are  secondary  blessings  to  the  tired 
creature  whose  first  need  is  rest.  It  was  for  rest  that 
Claude  Masterman  stood  primarily  in  her  mind.  He  was 
a  fairy  prince,  of  course;  he  was  a  lover  who  might  have 
satisfied  any  girl's  aspirations.  But  before  everything 
else  he  was  a  hero  and  a  savior,  a  being  in  whose  vast 
potentialities,  both  social  and  financial,  she  could  find 
refuge  and  lie  down  at  last. 

It  needed  but  this  bright  thought  to  brace  her.  She 
clasped  her  hands  to  her  breast ;  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the 
swimming  moon;  she  drew  deep  breaths  of  the  sweet, 
strong  air;  she  appealed  to  all  the  supporting  forces  she 
knew  anything  about.  A  minute  later  she  was  speeding 
through  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BETWEEN  the  greenhouses,  of  which  the  glass 
gleamed  dimly  in  the  moonlight,  Rosie  followed  a 
path  that  straggled  down  the  slope  of  her  father's  land 
to  the  new  boulevard  round  the  pond.  The  boulevard 
here  swept  inland  about  the  base  of  Duck  Rock,  in  order 
to  leave  that  wooded  bluff  an  inviolate  feature  of  the 
landscape.  So  inviolate  had  it  been  that  during  the 
months  since  Rosie  had  picked  wild  raspberries  in  its 
boskage  the  park  commissioners  had  seized  on  it  as  a  spot 
to  be  subdued  by  winding  paths  and  restful  benches.  To 
make  it  the  more  civilized  and  inviting  they  had  placed 
one  of  the  arc-lamps  that  now  garlanded  the  circuit  of  the 
pond  just  where  it  would  guide  the  feet  of  lovers  into  the 
alluring  shade.  Rosie  was  glad  of  this  friendly  light 
before  engaging  on  the  rough  path  up  the  bluff  under  the 
skeleton-like  trees.  She  was  not  afraid;  she  was  only 
nervous,  and  the  light  gave  her  confidence. 

But  to-night,  as  she  emerged  on  the  broad  boulevard 
from  the  weedy  outskirts  of  her  father's  garden,  the  clatter 
of  horse-hoofs  startled  her  into  drawing  back.  She  would 
have  got  herself  altogether  out  of  sight  had  there  been 
anything  at  hand  in  the  nature  of  a  shrub  high  enough  to 
conceal  her.  As  it  was  she  could  only  shrink  to  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  roadside,  hoping  that  the  rider,  who- 
ever he  was,  would  pass  without  seeing  her.  This  he 
might  have  done  had  not  the  bay  mare  Delia,  unaccus- 
tomed to  the  sight  of  young  ladies  roaming  alone  at  night, 
thought  it  the  part  of  propriety  to  shy. 

"Whoa,  Delia!    whoa!    What's  the  matter?     Steady, 

5i 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

old  girl!  steady!"  There  was  a  flash  of  the  quick,  pene- 
trating eyes  around  the  circle  made  by  the  arc-light. 
"Why,  hello,  Rosie!  Ton  my  soul!  Look  scared  as  a 
stray  kitten.     Where  you  going?" 

Rosie  could  only  reply  that  she  wasn't  going  anywhere. 
She  was  just — out. 

"Well,  it's  a  fine  night.  Everybody  seems  to  be  out. 
Just  met  Claude." 

The  girl  was  unable  to  repress  a  startled  "Oh!"  though 
she  bit  her  tongue  at  the  self -betrayal. 

Uncle  Sim  laughed  merrily.  "Don't  wonder  you're 
frightened — pretty  girl  like  you.  Devil  of  a  fellow, 
Claude  thinks  he  is.  Suppose  you  don't  know  him. 
Ah,  well,  that  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  him,  if  he 
was  to  run  across  you.  I'll  tell  you  what!  You  come 
along  with  me."  Chuckling  to  himself,  he  slipped  from 
Delia's  back,  preparing  to  lead  the  mare  and  accompany 
the  girl  on  foot.  "We'll  go  round  by  the  Old  Village  and 
up  School-house  Lane.  The  walk  '11  do  you  good.  You'll 
sleep  better  after  it.  Come  along  now,  and  tell  me  about 
your  mother  as  we  go.  Did  my  nephew,  Thor,  come  to 
see  her?  What  did  he  give  her?  Did  she  take  it?  Did 
it  make  her  sleep?" 

But  Rosie  shrank  away  from  him  with  the  eyes  of  a 
terrified  animal.  "Oh  no,  Dr.  Masterman!  Please!  I 
don't  want  to  take  that  long  walk.  I'll  go  back  up  the 
path — the  way  I  came.     I  just  ran  out  to — to — " 

He  looked  at  her  with  suspicious  kindliness.  "Will 
you  promise  me  you'll  go  back  the  way  you  came?" 

"Yes,  yes;  I  will." 

"Then  that's  all  right.  It's  an  awful  dangerous  road, 
Rosie.  Tramps — and  everything.  But  if  you'll  go 
straight  back  up  the  path  I'll  be  easy  in  my  mind  about 
you."  He  watched  her  while  she  retreated.  "Good 
night!"  he  called. 

"Good  night,"  came  her  voice  from  half-way  up  the 
garden. 

52 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  was  obliged  to  wait  in  the  shadow  of  an  outlying 
hothouse  till  the  sound  of  Delia's  hoofs,  clattering  off 
toward  the  Old  Village,  died  away  on  the  night.  She 
crept  back  again,  cautiously.  Cautiously,  too,  she  stole 
across  the  boulevard  and  into  the  wood.  Once  there,  she 
flew  up  the  path  with  the  frantic  eagerness  of  a  hare. 
She  was  afraid  Claude  might  have  come  and  gone.  She 
was  afraid  of  the  incident  with  old  Sim.  What  did  he 
mean?  Did  he  mean  anything?  If  he  betrayed  Claude 
at  home,  would  it  keep  the  latter  from  meeting  her? 
She  had  no  great  confidence  in  Claude's  ability  to  with- 
stand authority.  She  had  no  great  confidence  in  any- 
thing, not  even  in  his  love,  or  in  her  own.  The  love  was 
true  enough;  it  was  ardently,  desperately  true;  but  would 
it  bear  the  strain  that  could  so  easily  be  put  upon  it? 
She  felt  herself  swept  by  an  immense  longing  to  be  sure. 

She  had  so  many  subjects  to  think  of  and  to  dread  that 
she  forgot  to  be  frightened  as  she  sped  up  the  bluff.  It 
was  only  on  reaching  the  summit  and  discovering  that 
Claude  wasn't  there  that  she  was  seized  by  fear.  There 
was  a  bench  beside  her — a  round  bench  circling  the  trunk 
of  an  oak-tree — and  she  sank  upon  it. 

The  crunching  of  footsteps  told  her  some  one  was 
coming  up  the  slope.  In  all  probability  it  was  Claude; 
but  it  might  be  a  stranger,  or  even  an  animal.  The 
crunching  continued,  measured,  slow.  She  would  have 
fled  if  there  had  been  any  way  of  fleeing  without  encounter- 
ing the  object  of  her  alarm.  The  regular  beat  of  the  foot- 
steps growing  heavier  and  nearer  through  the  darkness 
rendered  her  almost  hysterical.  When  at  last  Claude's 
figure  emerged  into  the  moonlight,  his  erect  slenderness 
defined  against  the  sky,  she  threw  herself,  sobbing,  into 
his  arms. 

It  was  not  the  least  of  Claude's  attractions  that  he  was 
so  tender  with  women  swept  by  crises  of  emotion.  Where 
Thor  would  have  stood  helpless,  or  prescribed  a  mild 

S3 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

sedative,  Claude  pressed  the  agitated  creature  to  his 
breast  and  let  her  weep. 

When  her  sobs  had  subsided  to  a  convulsive  clinging  to 
him  without  tears,  he  explained  his  delay  in  arriving  by 
his  meeting  with  Uncle  Sim.  They  were  seated  on  the 
bench  by  this  time,  his  arms  about  her,  her  face  close  to 
his. 

"Awful  nuisance,  he  is.  Regular  Paul  Pry.  Can't 
keep  anything  from  him.  Scours  the  country  night  and 
day  like  the  Headless  Horseman  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  Never 
know  when  you'll  meet  him." 

"I  met  him,  too,"  Rosie  said,  getting  some  control  of 
her  voice. 

"The  deuce  you  did!  Did  he  speak  to  you?  Did  he 
say  anything  about  me?" 

"He  said  he'd  seen  you." 

"Is  that  all?" 

She  weighed  the  possible  disadvantages  of  saying  too 
much,  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  better  tell 
him  more.  "  No,  it  isn't  quite  all.  He  seemed  to — warn 
me  against  you." 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  In  his  start  he  loosened  his  embrace, 
but  grasped  her  to  him  again.     "What's  he  up  to  now?" 

" Do  you  think  he's  up  to  anything?" 

"What  else  did  he  say?  Tell  me  all  you  can  think 
of." 

She  narrated  the  brief  incident. 

"Will  it  make  any  difference  to  us?"  she  ventured 
to  ask. 

"It'll  make  a  difference  to  us  if  he  blabs  to  father. 
Of  course!" 

"What  sort  of  difference,  Claude?" 

"The  sort  of  difference  it  makes  when  there's  the  devil 
to  pay." 

She  clasped  him  to  her  the  more  closely.  "Does  that 
mean  that  we  shouldn't  be  able  to  see  each  other  any 
more?" 

54 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

The  question  being  beyond  him,  Claude  smothered  it 
under  a  selection  of  those  fond  epithets  in  which  his 
vocabulary  was  large.  In  the  very  process  of  enjoying 
them  Rosie  was  rallying  her  strength.  She  was  still 
clasping  him  as  she  withdrew  her  head  slightly,  looking 
up  at  him  through  the  moonlight. 

"Claude,  I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

With  his  hand  on  the  knot  of  her  hair,  he  pressed  her 
face  once  more  against  his.  "Yes,  yes,  darling.  Ask 
me  anything.     Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes." 

She  broke  in  on  his  purring  with  the  words,  "Are  we 
engaged?" 

The  purring  ceased.  Without  relaxing  his  embrace  he 
remained  passive,  like  a  man  listening.  "What  makes 
you  ask  me  that?" 

"It's  what  people  generally  are  when  they're — when 
they're  like  us,  isn't  it?" 

Brushing  his  lips  over  the  velvet  of  her  cheeks,  he 
began  to  purr  again.  "  No  one  was  every  like  us,  darling. 
No  one  ever  will  be.  Don't  worry  your  little  head  with 
what  doesn't  matter." 

"But  it  does  matter  to  me,  Claude.  I  want  to  know 
where  I  am." 

"Where  you  are,  dearie.  You're  here  with  me.  Isn't 
that  enough?" 

"It's  enough  for  now,  Claude,  but — " 

"And  isn't  what's  enough  for  now  all  we've  got  to 
think  of?" 

"No,  Claude  dearest.     A  girl  isn't  like  a  man — " 

"Oh  yes,  she  is,  when  she  loves.  And  you  love  me, 
don't  you,  dearie?  You  love  me  just  a  little.  Say  you 
love  me — just  a  little — a  very  little — " 

"Oh,  Claude,  my  darling,  my  darling,  you  know  I  love 
you.     You're  all  I've  got  in  the  world — " 

"And  you're  all  I've  got,  my  little  Rosie.  Nothing  else 
counts  when  I'm  with  you — " 

"But  when  you're  not  with  me,  Claude?    What  then? 

55 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

What  am  I  to  think  when  you're  away  from  me?  What 
am  I  to  be?" 

"Be  just  as  you  are.  Be  just  as  you've  always  been 
since  the  day  I  first  saw  you — " 

"Yes,  yes,  Claude;  but  you  don't  understand.  If  any 
one  were  to  find  out  that  I  came  here  to  meet  you  like 
this—" 

"No  one  must  find  out,  dear.  We  must  keep  that 
mum." 

"But  if  they  did,  Claude,  it  wouldn't  matter  to  you 
at  all—" 

"Oh,  wouldn't  it,  though?  Father'd  make  it  matter, 
I  can  tell  you." 

"Yes,  but  you  wouldn't  be  disgraced.  I  should  be. 
Don't  you  see?     No  one  would  ever  believe — " 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter  what  any  one  believes.  Let 
them  all  go  hang." 

"We  can't  let  them  all  go  hang.  You  can't  let  your 
father  go  hang,  and  I  can't  let  mine.  Do  you  know  what 
my  father  would  do  to  me  if  he  knew  where  I  am  now. 
He'd  kill  me." 

"Oh,  rot,  Rosie!" 

"No,  no,  Claude;  I'm  telling  you  the  truth.  He's  that 
sort.  You  wouldn't  think  it,  but  he  is.  He's  one  of  those 
mild,  dreamy  men  who,  when  they're  enraged — which 
isn't  often — don't  know  where  to  stop.  If  he  thought  I'd 
done  wrong  he'd  put  a  knife  into  me,  just  like  that." 
She  struck  her  clenched  hand  against  his  heart.  "When 
Matt  was  arrested — " 

He  tore  himself  from  her  suddenly.  The  sensitive  part 
of  him  had  been  touched.  "Oh,  Lord,  Rosie,  don't  let's 
go  into  that.     I  hate  that  business.     I  try  to  forget  it." 

"No  one  can  forget  it  who  remembers  me." 

"Oh  yes,  they  can.  /  can — when  you  don't  drag  it  up. 
What's  the  use,  Rosie?  Why  not  be  happy  for  the  few 
hours  every  now  and  then  that  we  can  get  together? 
What's  got  into  you  ?' '     He  changed  his  tone.     ' '  You  hurt 

56 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

me,  Rosie,  you  hurt  me.  You  talk  as  if  you  didn't  trust 
me.  You  seem  to  have  suspicions,  to  be  making 
schemes — " 

"Oh,  Claude!  For  God's  sake!"  Rosie,  too,  was 
touched  on  the  quick,  perhaps  by  some  truth  in  the  ac- 
cusation. 

He  kissed  her  ardently.  "I  know,  dear;  I  know.  I 
know  it's  all  right — that  you  don't  mean  anything.  Kiss 
me.  Tell  me  you  won't  do  it  any  more — that  you  won't 
hurt  the  man  who  adores  you.  What  does  anything  else 
matter?  You  and  I  are  everything  there  is  in  the  world. 
Don't  let  us  talk.     When  we've  got  each  other — " 

Rosie  gave  it  up,  for  the  present  at  any  rate.  She 
began  to  perceive  dimly  that  they  had  different  concep- 
tions of  love.  For  her,  love  was  engagement  and  mar- 
riage, with  the  material  concomitants  the  two  states 
implied.  But  for  Claude  love  was  something  else.  It 
was  something  she  didn't  understand,  except  that  it  was 
indifferent  to  the  orderly  procession  by  which  her  own 
ambitions  climbed.  He  loved  her;  of  that  she  was  sure. 
But  he  loved  her  for  her  face,  her  mouth,  her  eyes,  her  hair, 
the  color  of  her  skin,  her  roughened  little  hands,  her  lithe 
little  body.  Of  nothing  else  in  her  was  he  able  to  take 
cognizance.  Her  hard  life  and  her  heart-breaking  strug- 
gles were  conditions  he  hadn't  the  eyes  to  see.  He  was 
aware  of  them,  of  course,  but  he  could  detach  her  from 
them.  He  could  detach  her  from  them  for  the  minutes 
she  spent  with  him,  but  he  could  see  her  go  back  to  them 
and  make  no  attempt  to  follow  her  in  sympathy. 

But  he  loved  her  beauty.  There  was  that  palliating 
fact.  After  all,  Rosie  was  a  woman,  and  here  was  the 
supreme  tribute  to  her  womanhood.  It  was  not  every- 
thing, and  yet  it  was  the  thing  enchanting.  It  was  the 
kind  of  tribute  any  woman  in  the  world  would  have  put 
before  social  rescue  or  moral  elevation,  and  Rosie  was  like 
the  rest.  She  could  be  lulled  by  Claude's  endearments  as 
a  child  is  lulled  by  a  cradle-song.  With  this  music  in  her 
5  57 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

ears  doubts  were  stilled  and  misgivings  quieted  and  am- 
bitions overruled.  Return  to  the  world  of  care  and  calcu- 
lation followed  only  on  Claude's  words  uttered  just  as 
they  were  parting. 

"And  you'd  better  be  on  your  guard  against  Thor.  So 
long  as  he's  going  to  your  house  you  mustn't  give  anything 
away." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DRESSED  for  going  out,  Mrs.  Willoughby  was  button- 
ing her  gloves  as  she  stood  in  the  square  hall  hung 
with  tapestries  of  a  late  Gobelins  period  and  adorned 
with  a  cabinet  in  the  style  of  Buhl  flanked  by  two  decora- 
tive Regency  chairs.  Her  gaze  followed  the  action  of  her 
fingers  or  wandered  now  and  then  inquiringly  up  the 
stairway. 

Her  broad,  low  figure,  wide  about  the  hips,  tapered  tow- 
ard the  feet  in  lines  suggestive  of  a  spinning-top.  She  was 
proud  of  her  feet,  which  were  small  and  shapely,  and  ap- 
proved of  a  fashion  in  skirts  that  permitted  them  to  be  dis- 
played. Being  less  proud  of  her  eyes,  she  also  approved 
of  a  style  of  hat  which  allowed  the  low,  sloping  brim,  worn 
slantwise  across  the  brows,  to  conceal  one  of  them. 

"You're  surely  not  going  in  that  rag!" 

The  protest  was  called  forth  by  Lois's  appearance  in  a 
walking-costume  on  the  stairs. 

"But,  mamma,  I'm  not  going  at  all.     I  told  you  so." 

"Told  me  so!  What's  the  good  of  telling  me  so? 
There'll  be  loads  of  men  there — simply  loads.  Goodness 
me!  Lois,  if  you're  ever  going  to  know  any  men  at  all — " 

"  I  know  all  the  men  I  want  to  know." 

"You  don't  know  all  the  men  you  want  to  know,  and 
if  you  do  I  should  be  ashamed  to  say  it.  A  girl  who's  had 
all  your  advantages  and  doesn't  make  more  show!  What 
on  earth  are  you  doing  that  you  don't  want  to  come?" 

Lois  hesitated,  but  she  was  too  frank  for  concealments. 
"I'm  going  to  see  a  girl  Thor  Masterman  wants  me  to 
look  after.     He  thinks  I  may  be  able  to  help  her." 

59 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

The  mother  subsided.  "Oh,  well— if  it's  that!"  She 
added,  so  as  not  to  seem  to  hint  too  much:  " I  always  like 
you  to  do  what  you  can  toward  uplift.  I'll  take  you  as 
far  as  the  Old  Village,  if  you're  going  that  way." 

There  had  been  a  time  when  such  concessigns  at  the 
mention  of  Thor  Masterman  would  have  irritated  Lois 
more  than  any  violence  of  opposition;  but  that  time  was 
passing.  She  could  hardly  complain  if  others  saw  what 
was  daily  becoming  more  patent  to  herself.  She  could 
complain  of  it  the  less  since  she  found  it  difficult  to 
conceal  her  happiness.  It  was  a  happiness  that  softened 
the  pangs  of  care  and  removed  to  a  distance  the  con- 
ditions incidental  to  her  father's  habits  and  impending 
financial  ruin. 

Nevertheless,  the  conditions  were  there,  and  had  to  be 
confronted.  She  made,  in  fact,  a  timid  effort  to  confront 
them  as  she  sat  beside  her  mother  in  the  admirably  fitted 
limousine. 

"Mother,  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  papa?" 

Mrs.  Willoughby's  indignant  rising  to  the  occasion 
could  be  felt  like  an  electric  wave.  "Do  about  him? 
Do  about  what?" 

"About  the  way  he  is." 

"The  way  he  is?  What  on  earth  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"  I  mean  the  way  he  comes  home." 

"  He  comes  home  very  tired,  if  that's  what  you're  trying 
to  say.  Any  man  who  works  as  they  work  him  at  that 
office—" 

"Do  you  think  it's  work?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  it's  work.  I  call  it  slavery.  It's 
enough  to  put  a  man  in  his  grave.  I've  seen  him  come 
home  so  that  he  could  hardly  speak;  and  if  you've  done 
the  same  you  may  know  that  he's  simply  tired  enough  to 
die." 

Lois  tried  to  come  indirectly  to  her  point  by  saying, 
;'Thor  Masterman  has  been  bringing  him  home  lately." 

60 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Oh,  well;  I  suppose  Thor  knows  he  doesn't  lose  any- 
thing by  that  move." 

Lois  ignored  the  remark  to  say,  "Thor  seems  worried." 

The  mother's  alertness  was  that  of  a  ruffled,  bellicose 
bird  defending  its  mate.  "If  Thor's  worried  about  your 
father,  he  can  spare  himself  the  trouble.  He  can  leave 
that  to  me.  I'll  take  care  of  him.  What  he  needs  is  rest. 
When  everything  is  settled  I  mean  to  take  him  away. 
Of  course  we  can't  go  this  winter.  If  we  could  we  should 
go  to  Egypt — he  and  I.  But  we  can't.  We  know  that. 
We  make  the  sacrifice." 

These  discreet  allusions,  too,  Lois  thought  it  best  to 
let  pass  in  silence.  "  It  wasn't  altogether  about  papa  that 
Thor  was  worried.     He  seems  anxious  about  money." 

Bessie  tossed  her  head.  "That  may  easily  be.  If 
your  father  takes  our  money  out  of  the  firm,  as  he  threatens 
to  do,  the  Mastermans  will  be — well,  I  don't  know  where." 

The  girl  felt  it  right  to  go  a  step  further.  "He  seemed 
to  hint — he  didn't  say  it  in  so  many  words — that  perhaps 
papa  wouldn't  have  so  very  much  to  take  out." 

This  was  dismissed  lightly.  "Then  he  doesn't  know 
what's  he  talking  about.  Archie's  frightfully  close  in  those 
things,  I  must  say.  He's  never  let  either  of  the  boys 
know  anything  about  the  business.  He  won't  even  let 
me.  But  your  father  knows.  If  Thor  thinks  for  a  minute 
the  money  isn't  nearly  all  ours  he  may  come  in  for  a  rude 
awakening." 

Reassured  by  this  firmness  of  tone,  Lois  began  to  take 
heart.  Getting  out  at  the  Old  Village,  she  continued  her 
way  on  foot,  and  found  Rosie  among  the  azaleas  and 
poinsettias. 

Thor  Masterman  met  her  an  hour  later,  as  she  returned 
homeward.  He  knew  where  she  had  been  as  soon  as  he 
saw  her  turn  the  corner  at  which  the  road  descends  the 
hill,  recognizing  with  a  curious  pang  her  promptness  in 
carrying  out  his  errand.     The  pang  was  a  surprise  to  him 

61 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

— the  beginning  of  a  series  of  revelations  on  the  subject  of 
himself. 

Her  desire  to  please  him  had  never  before  this  instant 
caused  him  anything  but  satisfaction.  It  had  been  but 
the  response  to  his  desire  to  please  her.  He  had  not  been 
blind  to  the  goal  to  which  this  mutual  good-will  would 
lead  them,  but  he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  that  she 
would  make  him  as  good  a  wife  as  any  one.  As  a  pre- 
liminary to  marriage  he  had  weighed  the  possibility  of 
falling  ardently  in  love,  coming  at  last  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  not  susceptible  to  that  passion. 

His  long-standing  intention  to  marry  Lois  Willoughby 
was  based  on  the  fact  that  besides  being  sympathetic  to 
him  she  was  plain  and  lonely.  If  the  motive  hadn't  taken 
full  possession  of  his  heart  it  was  because  the  state  of 
being  plain  and  lonely  had  never  seemed  to  him  the  worst 
of  calamities,  by  any  means.  The  worst  of  calamities, 
that  for  which  no  patience  was  sufficient,  that  for  which 
there  was  no  excuse,  that  which  kings,  presidents,  em- 
perors, parliaments,  congresses,  embassies,  and  armies 
should  combine  their  energies  to  prevent,  was  to  be  poor. 
He  was  entirely  of  Mrs.  Fay's  opinion,  that  with  money 
ill -health  and  unhappiness  were  details.  You  could 
bear  them  both.  You  could  bear  being  lonely;  you 
could  bear  being  plain.  Consequently,  the  menace  that 
now  threatened  Lois  Willoughby's  fortunes  strengthened 
her  claim  on  him;  but  all  at  once  he  felt,  as  he  saw  her 
descend  the  hill,  that  the  claim  might  make  complications. 

Was  it  because  she  was  plain?  Curious  that  he  had 
never  attached  importance  to  that  fact  before!  But  it 
blinded  him  now  to  her  graceful  carriage  as  well  as  to  the 
way  she  had  of  holding  her  head  with  a  noble,  independent 
poise  that  made  her  a  woman  of  distinction. 

She  was  smiling  with  an  air  at  once  intimate  and 
triumphant.  "  I  think  I've  won  in  the  first  encounter,  at 
any  rate." 

In  his  wincing  there  was  the  surprise  of  a  man  who  in  a 

62 


SHE    WAS    SMILING    WITH    AN    AIK    AT    ONCE    INTIMATE  AND    TRIUMPHANT 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

moment  of  expansion  has  made  a  sacred  confidence  only  to 
find  it  crop  up  lightly  in  subsequent  conversation.  He  was 
obliged  to  employ  some  self-control  in  order  to  say,  with  a 
manner  sufficiently  offhand,  "What  happened?" 

She  told  of  making  her  approaches  under  the  plea  of 
buying  potted  plants.  A  cold  reception  had  given  way 
before  her  persistent  friendliness,  while  there  had  been 
complete  capitulation  on  the  tender  of  an  invitation  to 
County  Street  to  tea.  The  visit  had  been  difficult  to 
manage,  but  amusing,  and  a  little  pitiful. 

To  the  details  that  were  difficult  or  pitiful  he  could 
listen  with  calm,  but  he  was  inwardly  indignant  that  Lois 
should  find  anything  in  her  meeting  with  Rosie  that  lent 
itself  to  humor.  He  knew  that  humor.  The  superior 
were  fond  of  indulging  in  it  at  the  expense  of  the  less 
fortunate.  Even  Lois  Willoughby  had  not  escaped  that 
taint  of  class.  Fearing  to  wound  her  by  some  impatient 
word,  he  made  zeal  in  his  round  of  duties  the  excuse  for 
an  abrupt  good-by. 

But  zeal  in  his  round  of  duties  changed  to  zeal  of  another 
kind  as  with  set  face  and  long,  swinging  stride  he  hurried 
up  the  hill.  The  plans  he  had  been  maturing  for  the 
psychological  treatment  of  Mrs.  Fay  melted  into  eagerness 
to  know  how  the  poor  little  thing  had  taken  Lois's  ad- 
vances. He  was  disappointed,  therefore,  that  Rosie 
should  receive  him  coldly. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  his  imagination  had  created 
between  them  something  with  the  flavor  of  a  friendship. 
He  had  been  thinking  of  her  so  incessantly  that  it  was  dis- 
concerting to  perceive  that  apparently  she  had  not  been 
thinking  of  him  at  all.  He  was  the  doctor  to  her,  and 
no  more.  She  continued  to  direct  Antonio,  the  Italian, 
who  was  opening  a  crate  of  closely  packed  azalea-plants, 
while  she  discussed  the  effect  of  his  sedative  on  her  mother. 
Her  manner  was  dry  and  business-like;  her  replies  to  his 
questions  brief  and  to  the  point. 

But  professional  duty  being  done,  he  endeavored  to 

63 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

raise  the  personal  issue.  "What  did  you  mean  yesterday 
when  you  said  that  you  couldn't  play  fair,  but  that  you'd 
play  as  fair  as  you  could?" 

She  turned  from  her  contemplation  of  the  stooping 
Antonio's  back.     "Did  I  say  that?" 

He  hardly  heeded  the  question  in  the  pleasure  he  got 
from  this  glimpse  of  her  green  eyes.  "You  said  that — or 
something  very  much  like  it." 

His  uncertainty  gave  her  the  chance  to  correct  that 
which,  in  the  light  of  Claude's  warning,  might  prove  to 
have  been  an  indiscretion.  "I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine. 
You  must  have — misunderstood  me." 

He  pursued  the  topic  not  because  he  cared,  but  in  order 
to  make  her  look  at  him  again.  "  Oh  no,  I  didn't.  Don't 
you  remember?  It  was  after  you  said  that  there  was  one 
thing  that  might  happen — " 

She  was  sure  of  her  indiscretion  now.  He  might  even 
be  setting  a  snare  for  her.  Dr.  Sim  Masterman  might 
have  withdrawn  from  her  mother's  case  in  order  to  put 
the  one  brother  on  the  other's  tracks.  If  Claude  was  right 
in  his  suspicions,  there  was  reasonable  ground  for  alarm. 
She  said,  with  assumed  indifference:  "Oh,  that!  That 
was  nothing.     Just  a  fancy. ' ' 

He  still  talked  for  the  sake  of  talking,  attaching  no 
importance  to  her  replies.  "Was  it  a  fancy  when  you 
said  that  I  would  be  one  of  the  people  opposed  to  it — if  it 
happened?" 

"Well,  yes.  But  you'd  only  be  one  among  a  lot." 
She  shifted  to  firmer  ground.  "I  wasn't  thinking  of  you 
in  particular — or  of  any  one  in  particular." 

'Were  you  thinking  of  any  thing  in  particular?" 

The  question  threw  her  back  on  straight  denial.  "  N-no; 
not  exactly;  just  a  fancy." 

"But  I  shouldn't  be  opposed  to  it,  whatever  it  is— if  it 
was  to  your  advantage." 

His  persistence  deepened  her  distrust.  A  man  whom 
she  had  seen  only  once  before  would  hardly  display  such 

64 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE   ANGELS 

an  interest  in  her  and  her  affairs  unless  he  had  a  motive, 
especially  when  that  man  was  a  Masterman.  She  took 
refuge  in  her  task  with  the  azaleas.  "No,  not  there, 
Antonio.     Put  them  there — like  this — I'll  show  you." 

The  necessity  for  giving  Antonio  practical  demonstra- 
tion taking  her  to  the  other  side  of  the  hothouse,  Thor  felt 
himself  obliged  to  go.  He  went  with  the  greater  regret 
since  he  had  been  unable  to  sound  her  on  the  subject 
of  Lois  Willoughby's  advances,  though  her  skill  in  eluding 
him  heightened  his  respect.  His  disdain  for  the  small 
arts  of  coquetry  being  as  sincere  as  his  scorn  of  snobbery, 
he  counted  it  to  her  credit  that  she  eluded  him  at  all. 
There  would  be  plenty  of  opportunities  for  speech  with 
her.  During  them  he  hoped  to  win  her  confidence  by 
degrees. 

In  the  bedroom  up-stairs,  where  the  mother  was  again 
seated  in  her  upholstered  arm-chair  with  the  quilt  across 
her  knees,  he  endeavored  to  put  into  practice  his  idea  of 
mental  therapeutics.  He  began  by  speaking  of  Matt, 
using  the  terms  that  would  most  effectively  challenge  her 
attention.  "When  he  comes  back,  you  know,  we  must 
make  him  forget  that  he's  ever  worn  stripes." 

She  eyed  him  sternly.  "What  'd  be  the  good  of  his 
forgetting  it?    He'll  have  done  it,  just  the  same." 

"Some  of  us  have  done  worse  than  that,  and  yet — " 

"And  yet  we  didn't  get  into  Colcord  for  them.  But 
that's  what  counts.  You  can  do  what  you  like  as  long  as 
you  ain't  put  in  jail.     Look  at  your  father — " 

"So  when  he  comes  home — "  he  interrupted,  craftily. 

She  leaned  forward,  throwing  the  quilt  from  her  knees. 
"See  here,"  she  asked,  confidentially,  "how  would  you  feel 
if  you  saw  your  son  coming  up  out  of  hell?" 

"How  should  I  feel?  I  should  be  glad  he  was  coming 
up  instead  of  going  down.  You  would,  too,  wouldn't  you  ? 
And  now  that  he's  coming  up  we  must  keep  him  up. 
That's  the  point.  So  many  poor  chaps  that  have  been  in 
his  position  feel. that  because  they've  once  been  down 

65 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

they've  got  to  stay  down.  We  must  make  him  see 
that  he's  come  back  among  friends  —  and  you  must 
tell  us  what  to  do.  You  must  give  your  mind  to  it 
and  think  it  out.  He's  your  boy — so  it's  your  duty  to 
take  the  lead." 

Her  cold  eye  rested  on  him  as  if  she  were  giving  his 
words  consideration.  "Why  don't  you  ask  your  father  to 
take  the  lead?    He  sent  him  to  Colcord." 

Thor  got  no  further  than  this  during  the  hour  he  spent 
with  her,  seeing  that  Uncle  Sim  had  been  right  in  describ- 
ing the  case  as  one  for  ingenuity — and  something  more. 
Questioning  himself  as  to  what  this  something  more  could 
be,  he  brought  up  the  subject  tentatively  with  Jasper 
Fay,  whom  he  met  on  leaving  the  house.  Thor  himself 
stood  on  the  door-step,  while  Fay,  who  wore  gardening 
overalls,  confronted  him  from  the  withered  grass-plot 
that  ended  in  a  leafless  hedge  of  bridal-veil. 

"She's  never  been  a  religious  woman  at  all,  has  she?" 

Fay  answered  with  a  distant  smile.  "She  did  go  in 
for  religion  at  one  time,  sir;  but  I  guess  she  found  it  slim 
diet.  It  got  to  seem  to  her  like  Thomas  Carlyle's  hungry 
lion  invited  to  a  feast  of  chickenweed.  After  that  she 
quit." 

"I  had  an  idea  that  you  belonged  to  the  First  Church 
and  were  Dr.  Hilary's  parishioners." 

Fay  explained.  "  Dr.  Hilary  married  us,  but  we  haven't 
troubled  the  church  much  since.  I  never  took  any  in- 
terest in  the  Christian  religion  to  begin  with;  and  when 
I  looked  into  it  I  found  it  even  more  fallacious  than  I 
supposed."  To  account  for  this  advanced  position  on  the 
part  of  a  simple  market-gardener  he  added,  "I've  been  a 
good  deal  of  a  reader." 

Thor  spoke  slowly  and  after  meditation.  "It  isn't  so 
much  a  question  of  its  being  fallacious  as  of  its  capacity 
for  producing  results." 

Fay  turned  partially  round  toward  the  south,  where  a 
haze  hung  above  the  city.     His  tone  was  infused  with  a 

66 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

mild  bitterness.     "Don't  we  see  the  results  it  can  pro 
duce — over  there?" 

"That's  right,  too."  Thor  was  so  much  in  sympathy 
with  this  point  of  view  that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  go  on. 
"And  yet  some  of  us  doctors  are  beginning  to  suspect  that 
there  may  be  a  power  in  Christianity — a  purely  psycho- 
logical power,  you  understand — that  hasn't  been  used  for 
what  it's  worth." 

Fay  nodded.  He  had  been  following  this  current  of 
contemporary  thought.  "Yes,  Dr.  Thor.  So  I  hear. 
Just  as,  I  dare  say,  you  haven't  found  out  all  the  uses  of 
opium." 

"Well,  opium  is  good  in  its  place,  you  know." 

"I  suppose  so."  He  lifted  his  starry  eyes  with  their 
mystic,  visionary  rapture  fully  on  the  young  physician. 
"And  yet  I  remember  how  George  Eliot  prayed  that  when 
her  troubles  came  she  might  get  along  without  being 
drugged  by  that  stuff — meaning  the  Christian  religion, 
sir — and  I  guess  I'd  kind  o'  like  that  me  and  mine  should 
do  the  same." 

Thor  dropped  the  subject  and  went  his  way.  As  far 
as  he  had  opinions  of  his  own,  they  would  have  been 
similar  to  Fay's  had  he  not  within  a  year  or  two  heard 
of  sufficiently  authenticated  cases  in  which  sick  spirits  or 
disordered  nerves  had  yielded  to  spiritual  counsels  after 
the  doctor  had  had  no  success.  He  had  been  so  little  im- 
pressed with  these  instances  that  he  might  not  have  al- 
lowed his  speculations  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Fay  to  go 
beyond  the  fleeting  thought,  only  for  the  fact  that  on 
passing  through  the  Square  he  met  Reuben  Hilary.  In 
general  he  was  content  to  touch  his  hat  to  the  old  gentle- 
man and  go  on;  but  to-day,  urged  by  an  impulse  too 
vague  to  take  accurate  account  of,  he  stopped  with  re- 
spectful greetings. 

"I've  just  been  to  see  an  old  parishioner  of  yours,  sir," 
he  said,  when  the  preliminaries  of  neighborly  conversation 
had  received  their  due. 

67 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 


«i  - 


Have  you,  now?"  was  the  non-committal  response, 
delivered  with  a  North-of-Ireland  intonation. 

"Mrs.  Fay — wife  of  Fay,  the  gardener.  I  can't  say 
she's  ill,"  Thor  went  on,  feeling  his  way,  "but  she's  men- 
tally upset."  He  decided  to  plunge  into  the  subject 
boldly,  smiling  with  that  mingling  of  frankness  and  per- 
plexity which  people  found  appealing  because  of  its  con- 
scientiousness. "And  I've  been  wondering,  Dr.  Hilary, 
if  you  couldn't  help  her." 

"Have  you,  now?  And  what  would  you  be  wanting 
me  to  do?" 

Thor  reflected  as  to  the  exact  line  to  take,  while  the 
kindly  eyes  covered  him  with  their  shrewd,  humorous 
twinkle.  "You  see,"  Thor  tried  to  explain,  "that  if  she 
could  get  the  idea  that  there's  any  other  stand  to  take 
toward  trouble  than  that  of  kicking  against  it,  she  might 
be  in  a  fair  way  to  get  better.  At  present  she's  like  a 
prisoner  who  dashes  his  head  against  a  stone  wall,  not 
seeing  that  there's  a  window  by  which  he  might  make  his 
escape." 

There  was  renewed  twinkling  in  the  merry  eyes.  "But 
if  there's  a  window,  why  don't  you  point  it  out  to  her?" 

Thor  grinned.     "Because,  sir,  I  don't  see  it  myself." 

"T't,  t't!  Don't  you,  then?  And  how  do  you  know 
it's  there?" 

Thor  continued  to  grin.  "To  be  frank  with  you,  sir, 
I  don't  believe  it  is  there.  But  if  you  can  make  her  believe 
it  is—" 

"That  is,  you  want  me  to  deceive  the  poor  creature." 

"Oh  no,  sir,"  Thor  protested.  "You  wouldn't  be  de- 
ceiving her  because  you  do  believe  it." 

"So  that  I'd  only  be  deceiving  her  to  the  extent  that 
I'm  deceived  myself." 

"You're  too  many  for  me,"  Thor  laughed  again,  pre- 
paring to  move  on.  "I  didn't  know  but  that  if  you  gave 
her  what  are  called  the  consolations  of  religion — that's 
the  right  phrase,  isn't  it — " 

68      - 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"There  is  such  a  phrase.  But  you  can't  give  people  the 
consolations  of  religion;  they've  got  to  find  them  for 
themselves.  If  they  won't  do  that,  there's  no  power  in 
heaven  or  earth  that  can  force  consolation  upon  them." 

"But  religion  undertakes  to  do  something,  doesn't  it?" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "  Nothing  whatever — no 
more  than  air  undertakes  that  you  shall  breathe  it,  or 
water  that  you  shall  drink  it,  or  fire  that  you  shall  warm 
yourself  at  its  blaze." 

Thor  mused.  When  he  spoke  it  was  as  if  summing  up 
the  preceding  remarks.  "So  that  you  can't  do  anything, 
sir,  for  my  friend,  Mrs.  Fay?" 

"  Nothing  whatever,  me  dear  Thor — but  help  her  to  do 
something  for  herself." 

"Very  well,  sir.     Will  you  try  that?" 

"Sure,  I'll  try  it.  I'm  too  proud  of  the  Word  of  God 
to  thrust  it  where  it  isn't  wanted — margaritas  ante  porcos, 
if  you've  Latin  enough  for  that — but  when  any  one  asks 
for  it  as  earnestly  as  you,  me  dear  Thor — " 

Having  won  what  he  asked,  Thor  shook  the  old  man's 
hand  and  thanked  him,  after  which  he  hurried  off  to  the 
garage  to  take  out  his  runabout  and  bring  Lois's  father 
home  from  town. 


CHAPTER   IX 

AS  November  and  December  passed  and  the  new  year 
/x  came  in,  small  happenings  began  to  remind  Thorley 
Masterman  that  he  was  soon  to  inherit  money.  It  was  a 
fact  which  he  himself  could  scarcely  credit.  Perhaps 
because  he  was  not  imaginative  the  condition  of  being 
thirty  years  of  age  continued  to  seem  remote  even  when  he 
was  within  six  weeks  of  that  goal. 

He  was  first  impressed  with  the  rapidity  of  his  approach 
to  it  on  a  morning  when  he  came  late  to  breakfast,  finding 
at  his  plate  a  long  envelope,  bearing  in  its  upper  left-hand 
corner  the  request  that  in  the  event  of  non-delivery  it 
should  be  returned  to  the  office  of  Darling  &  Darling,  at 
27,  Commonwealth  Row.  A  glance,  which  he  couldn't 
help  reading,  passed  round  the  table  as  he  took  it  up. 
It  was  not  new  to  him  that  among  the  other  members  of 
the  household,  closely  as  they  were  united,  there  was  a 
sense  of  vague  injustice  because  he  was  coming  into 
money  and  they  were  not. 

The  communication  was  brief,  stating  no  more  than  the 
fact  that  in  view  of  the  transfer  of  the  estate  which  would 
take  place  a  few  weeks  later,  Mr.  William  Darling,  the 
sole  trustee,  would  be  glad  to  see  the  heir  on  a  day  in  the 
near  future,  to  submit  to  him  the  list  of  investments  and 
other  properties  that  were  to  make  up  his  inheritance. 
Thor  saw  his  grandfather's  money,  so  long  a  fairy  pros- 
pect, as  likely  to  become  a  matter  of  solid  cash.  The 
change  in  his  position  would  be  considerable. 

As  yet,  however,  his  position  remained  that  of  a  son 
in  his  father's  family,  and,  in  obedience  to  what  he  knew 

70 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

was  expected  of  him,  he  read  the  note  aloud.  Though 
there  was  an  absence  of  comment,  his  stepmother,  in 
passing  him  his  coffee,  murmured,  caressingly,  "Dear 
old  Thor." 

"Dear  old  Thor,"  Claude  mimicked,  "will  soon  be  able 
to  do  everything  he  pleases." 

Mrs.  Masterman  smiled.     It  was  her  mission  to  con- 
ciliate.    "And  what  will  that  be?" 

"I  know  what  it  won't  be,"  Claude  said,  scornfully. 
"It  won't  be  anything  that  has  to  do  with  a  pretty  girl." 

Thor  flushed.  It  was  one  of  the  minutes  at  which 
Claude's  taunts  gave  him  all  he  could  do  to  contain  him- 
self. As  far  as  his  younger  brother  was  concerned,  he 
meant  well  by  him.  It  had  always  been  his  intention  that 
his  first  use  of  Grandpa  Thorley's  money  should  be  in  sup- 
plementing Claude's  meager  personal  resources  and  help- 
ing him  to  keep  on  his  feet.  He  could  be  patient  with 
him,  too — patient  under  all  sorts  of  stinging  gibes  and 
double-edged  compliments — patient  for  weeks,  for  months 
— patient  right  up  to  the  minute  when  something  touched 
him  too  keenly  on  the  quick,  and  his  wrath  broke  out  with 
a  fury  he  knew  to  be  dangerous.  It  was  so  dangerous  as 
to  make  him  afraid — afraid  for  Claude,  and  more  afraid 
for  himself.  There  had  been  youthful  quarrels  between 
them  from  which  he  had  come  away  pale  with  terror, 
not  at  what  he  had  done,  but  at  what  he  might  have  done 
had  he  not  maintained  some  measure  of  self-control. 

The  memory  of  such  occasions  kept  him  quiet  now, 
though  the  irony  of  Claude's  speech  cut  so  much  deeper 
than  any  one  could  suspect.  "Won't  be  anything  that 
has  to  do  with  a  pretty  girl !"  Good  God!  When  he  was 
beginning  to  feel  his  soul  rent  in  the  struggle  between  love 
and  honor!  It  was  like  something  sprung  on  him — that 
had  caught  him  unawares.  There  were  days  when  the 
suffering  was  so  keen  that  he  wondered  if  there  was  no 
way  of  lawfully  giving  in.  After  all,  he  had  never  asked 
Lois  Willoughby  to  marry  him.     There  had  never  been 

7i 


THE    SIDE  OF   THE  ANGELS 

more  between  them  than  an  unspoken  intention  in  his 
mind  which  had  somehow  communicated  itself  to  hers. 
But  that  was  not  a  pledge.  If  he  were  to  marry  some 
one  else,  she  couldn't  reproach  him  by  so  much  as  a 
syllable. 

It  was  not  often  that  he  was  tempted  to  reason  thus, 
but  Claude's  sarcasm  brought  up  the  question  more 
squarely  than  it  had  ever  raised  itself  before.  It  was 
exactly  the  sort  of  subject  on  which,  had  it  concerned  any 
one  else,  Thor  would  have  turned  for  light  to  Lois  herself. 
In  being  debarred  from  her  counsels,  he  felt  strangely  at 
a  loss.  While  he  said  to  himself  that  after  all  these  years 
there  was  but  one  thing  for  him  to  do,  he  was  curious  as 
to  the  view  other  people  might  take  of  such  a  situation. 
It  was  because  of  this  need,  and  with  Claude's  sneer 
ringing  in  his  heart,  that  later  in  the  day  he  sprang  the 
question  on  Dearlove.  Dearlove  was  the  derelict  English 
butler  whom  Thor  had  picked  out  of  the  gutter  and  put  in 
charge  of  his  office  so  that  he  might  have  another  chance. 
He  had  been  summoned  into  his  master's  presence  to 
explain  the  subsidence  in  the  contents  of  a  bottle  of  cognac 
that  Thor  kept  at  the  office  for  emergency  cases  and  had 
neglected  to  put  under  lock  and  key. 

"That  was  a  full  bottle  a  month  ago,"  Thor  declared, 
holding  the  accusing  object  up  to  the  light. 

"Was  it,  sir?"  Dearlove  asked,  dismally.  He  stood 
in  his  habitual  attitude,  his  arms  crossed  on  his  stomach, 
his  hands  thrust,  monklike,  into  his  sleeves. 

"And  I've  only  taken  one  glass  out  of  it — the  day  that 
young  fellow  fell  off  his  bicycle." 

Dearlove  eyed  the  bottle  piteously.  "  'Aven't  you, 
sir?  Perhaps  you  took  more  out  that  day  than  you 
thought." 

But  Thor  broke  in  with  what  was  really  on  his  mind. 

Look  here,  Dearlove !  What  would  you  say  to  a  man  who 
was  in  love  with  one  woman  if  he  married  another?" 

Dearlove  was  so  astonished  as  to  be  for  a  minute  at  a 

72 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

loss  for  speech.     "What  'd  I  say  to  him,  sir?     I'd  say, 
what  did  he  do  it  for?     If  it  was — " 

"Yes,  Dearlove?"  Thor  encouraged.  "If  it  was  for — 
what?" 

"Well,  sir,  if  he'd  got  money  with  her,  like — well, 
that  'd  be  one  thing." 

"But  if  he  didn't?  If  it  was  a  case  in  which  money 
didn't  matter?" 

Dearlove  shook  his  head.  "I  never  'eard  of  no  such 
case  as  that,  sir." 

Thor  grew  interested  in  the  sheerly  human  aspects  of 
the  subject.  Romance  was  so  novel  to  him  that  he  won- 
dered if  every  one  came  under  its  spell  at  some  time — 
if  there  was  no  exception,  not  even  Dearlove.  He  leaned 
across  the  desk,  his  hands  clasped  upon  it. 

"Now,  Dearlove,  suppose  it  was  your  own  case,  and — " 

"Oh,  me,  sir!  I'm  no  example  to  no  one — not  with 
Brightstone  'anging  on  to  me  the  way  she  does.  I  can't 
look  friendly  at  so  much  as  a  kitten  without  Bright- 
stone — " 

"Now  here's  the  situation,  Dearlove,"  Thor  interrupted, 
while  the  ex-butler  listened,  his  head  judicially  inclined  to 
one  side:  "  Suppose  a  man — a  patient  of  mine,  let  us  say — 
meant  to  marry  one  young  lady,  and  let  her  see  it.  And 
suppose,  later,  he  fell  very  much  in  love  with  another 
young  lady — " 

"He'd  'ave  to  ease  the  first  one  off  a  bit,  wouldn't  he, 
sir?" 

"You  think  he  ought  to." 

"I  think  he'd  'ave  to,  sir,  unless  he  wanted  to  be  sued 
for  breach." 

"It's  the  question  of  duty  I'm  thinking  of,  Dearlove." 

"Ain't  it  his  dooty  to  marry  the  one  he's  in  love  with, 
sir?  Doesn't  the  Good  Book  say  as  'ow  fallin'  in  love" — 
Dearlove  blushed  becomingly — "as  'ow  fallin'  in  love  is 
the  way  God  A 'mighty  means  to  fertilize  the  earth  with 
people?  Doesn't  the  Good  Book  say  that,  sir?" 
6  73 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Perhaps  it  does.  I  believe  it's  the  kind  of  primitive 
subject  it's  likely  to  take  up." 

"So  that  there's  that  to  be  thought  of,  sir.  They  say 
the  children  not  born  o'  love  matches  ain't  always  strong." 
He  added,  as  he  shuffled  toward  the  door,  "We  never  had 
no  little  ones,  Brightstone  and  me — only  a  very  small  one 
that  died  a  few  hours  after  it  was  born." 

Thor  was  not  convinced  by  this  reasoning,  but  he  was 
happier  than  before.  Such  expressions  of  opinion,  which 
would  probably  be  indorsed  by  nine  people  out  of  ten, 
assured  him  that  he  might  follow  the  urging  of  his  heart 
and  yet  not  be  a  dastard. 

He  felt  on  stronger  ground,  therefore,  when  he  talked 
with  Fay  one  afternoon  in  the  week  following.  "Suppose 
my  father  doesn't  renew  the  lease — what  would  happen 
to  you?" 

Fay  raised  himself  from  the  act  of  doing  something  to  a 
head  of  lettuce  which  was  unfolding  its  petals  like  a  great 
green  rose.  His  eyes  had  the  visionary  look  that  marked 
his  inability  to  come  down  to  the  practical.  "Well,  sir, 
I  don't  rightly  know." 

"But  you've  thought  of  it,  haven't  you?" 

"Not  exactly  thought  of  it.  He's  said  he  wouldn  t 
two  or  three  times  already,  and  then  changed  his  mind." 

"Would  it  do  you  any  good  if  he  did?  Aren't  you 
fighting  a  losing  battle,  anyhow?" 

"That's  not  wholly  the  way  I  judge,  Dr.  Thor.  Neither 
the  losing  battle  nor  the  winning  one  can  be  told  from  the 
balance-sheet.  The  success  or  failure  of  a  man's  work  is 
chiefly  in  himself." 

Thor  studied  this,  gazing  down  the  level  of  soft  verdure 
to  the  end  of  the  greenhouse  in  which  they  stood.  "I 
can  see  how  that  might  be  in  one  way,  but — " 

"It's  the  way  I  mostly  think  of,  sir.  Every  man  has 
his  own  habit  of  mind,  hasn't  he?  I  agree  with  the  great 
prophet  Thomas  Carlyle  when  he  says" — he  brought  out 

74 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

the  words  with  a  mild  pomposity — "when  he  says  that 
a  certain  inarticulate  self -consciousness  dwells  in  us  which 
only  our  works  can  render  articulate.  He  speaks  of  the 
folly  of  the  precept  'Know  thyself  till  we've  made  it 
'Know  what  thou  canst  work  at.'  I  can  work  at  this, 
Dr.  Thor;  I  couldn't  work  at  anything  else.  I  know  that 
making  both  ends  meet  is  an  important  part  of  it,  of 
course — " 

"But  to  you  it  isn't  the  most  important  part  of  it." 

Fay's  eyes  wandered  to  the  other  greenhouse  in  which 
lettuce  grew,  to  the  hothouse  full  of  flowers,  and  out  over 
the  forcing-beds  of  violets.  "No,  Dr.  Thor;  not  the  most 
important  part  of  it — to  me.  I've  created  all  this.  I 
love  it.     It's  my  life.     It's  myself.     And  if — " 

"And  if  my  father  doesn't  renew  the  lease — ?" 

"Then  I  shall  be  done  for.  It  won't  be  just  going  bank- 
rupt in  the  money  sense;  it  '11  be  everything  else — 
blasted."  He  subjoined,  dreamily:  "I  don't  know  what 
would  happen  to  me  after  that.  I'd  be — I'd  be  equal  to 
committing  crimes." 

Thor  couldn't  remember  ever  having  seen  tears  on  an 
elderly's  man's  cheeks  before.  He  took  a  turn  down  half 
the  length  of  the  greenhouse  and  back  again.  "Look 
here,  Fay,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  making  a  resolution, 
"supposing  my  father  would  give  me  a  lease  of  the  place?" 

"You,  Dr.  Thor?" 

"  Yes,  me.    Would  you  work  it  for  me?" 

Fay  reflected  long,  while  Thor  watched  the  play  of  light 
and  shadow  over  the  mild,  mobile  face.  "It  wouldn't 
be  my  own  place  any  more,  would  it,  sir?" 

"No,  I  suppose  it  wouldn't — not  strictly.  But  it  would 
be  the  next  best  thing.     It  would  be  better  than — " 

"It  would  be  better  than  being  turned  out."  He  re- 
flected further.  "Was  you  thinking  of  taking  it  over  as  an 
investment,  sir?" 

Not  having  considered  this  side  of  his  idea,  Thor  sought 
for  a  natural,  spontaneous  answer,  and  was  not  long  in 

75 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

finding  one.  "I  want  to  be  identified  with  the  village 
industries,  because  I'm  going  into  politics." 

"Oh,  are  you,  sir?  I  didn't  know  you  was  that  way 
inclined." 

"I'm  not,"  Thor  explained,  when  they  had  moved  from 
the  greenhouse  into  the  yard.  "I  only  feel  that  we 
people  of  the  old  stock  hang  out  of  politics  too  much  and 
that  I  ought  to  pitch  in  and  make  one  more.  So  you 
get  my  idea,  Fay.  It  '11  give  me  standing  to  hold  a  bit 
of  property  like  this,  even  if  it's  only  on  lease." 

There  was  no  need  for  further  explanations.  Fay  con- 
sented, not  cheerfully,  but  with  a  certain  saddened  and  yet 
grateful  resignation,  of  which  the  expression  was  cut  short 
by  a  cheery,  ringing  voice  from  the  gateway: 

"Hello,  Mr.  Fay!  Hello,  Dr.  Thor!  Whoa,  Maud, 
whoa!    Stand,  will  you?    What  you  thinking  of  ?" 

The  response  to  this  greeting  came  from  both  men 
simultaneously,  each  making  it  according  to  his  capacity 
for  heartiness.  "Hello,  Jim!"  They  emphasized  the 
welcome  by  unconsciously  advancing  to  meet  the  tall, 
stalwart  young  Irishman  of  the  third  generation  on 
American  soil  who  came  toward  them  with  the  long,  loose 
limbs  and  swinging  stride  inherited  from  an  ancestry  bred 
to  tramping  the  hills  of  Connemara.  A  pair  of  twinkling 
eyes  and  a  mouth  that  was  always  on  the  point  of  breaking 
into  a  smile  when  it  was  not  actually  smiling  tempered  the 
peasant  shrewdness  of  a  face  that  got  further  softening, 
and  a  touch  of  superiority,  from  a  carefully  tended  young 
mustache. 

Thor  and  Jim  Breen  had  been  on  friendly  terms  ever 
since  they  were  boys;  but  the  case  was  not  exceptional, 
since  the  latter  was  on  similar  terms  with  every  one  in  the 
village.  From  childhood  upward  he  had  been  a  local 
character,  chiefly  because  of  a  breezy  self-respect  that 
was  as  free  from  self -consciousness  as  from  self-importance. 
There  was  no  one  to  whom  he  wasn't  polite,  but  there 
had  never  been  any  one  of  whom  he  was  afraid.     "Hello, 

76 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Mr.  Masterman !"  " HeUo,  Dr.  Hilary!"  " Hello,  Father 
Ryan!"  "Hello  Dr.  Sim!"  had  been  his  form  of  greet- 
ing ever  since  he  had  begun  swaggering  around  the 
village,  with  head  up  and  face  alert,  at  the  age  of  five. 
No  one  had  ever  been  found  to  resent  this  cheerful  famil- 
iarity, not  even  Archie  Masterman. 

As  a  man  in  whom  friendliness  was  a  primary  instinct, 
Jim  Breen  never  entered  a  trolley-car  nor  turned  a  street 
corner  without  speaking  or  nodding  to  every  one  he 
knew.  Never  did  he  visit  a  neighboring  town  without 
calling  on,  or  calling  up,  every  one  he  could  claim  as  an 
acquaintance.  He  was  always  on  hand  for  fires,  for 
fights,  for  fallen  horses,  for  first-aid  in  accidents,  for  ball- 
games,  for  the  outings  of  Boy  Scouts,  and  for  village 
theatricals  and  dances.  There  were  rumors  that  he  was 
sometimes  "wild,"  but  the  wildness  being  confined  to  his 
incursions  into  the  city — which  generally  took  place  after 
dark — it  was  not  sufficiently  in  evidence  to  shock  the 
home  community.  It  was  a  matter  of  common  knowledge 
that  he  used,  in  village  phrase,  "to  go  with"  Rosie  Fay 
— the  breaking  of  the  friendship  being  attributed  by  some 
of  the  well-informed  to  his  reported  wildness,  and  by 
others  to  differences  in  religion.  As  Thor  had  been  absent 
in  Europe  during  this  episode,  and  was  without  the  native 
suspicion  that  would  have  connected  the  two  names, 
he  took  Jim's  arrival  pleasantly. 

Having  finished  his  bit  of  business,  which  concerned  an 
order  for  azaleas  too  large  for  his  father  to  meet,  and  in 
which  Mr.  Fay  might  find  it  to  his  advantage  to  combine, 
Jim  turned  blithely  toward  Thor.  "Hear  about  the  town 
meeting,  Dr.  Thor? — what  old  Billy  Taylor  said  about  the 
new  bridge?  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  nerve? 
Tell  you  what,  there's  some  things  in  this  town  needs 
clearing  up." 

The  statement  bringing  out  Thor's  own  intention  to 
run  as  a  candidate  for  office  at  the  next  election,  Jim 
expressed  his  interest  in  the  vernacular  of  the  hour, 

77 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  Further  discussion  of 
politics  ending  in  Jim's  pledging  his  support  to  his  boy- 
hood's friend,  Thor  shook  hands  with  an  encouraging 
sense  of  being  embarked  on  a  public  career,  and  went 
forward  to  visit  his  patient  in  the  house. 

His  steps  were  arrested,  however,  by  hearing  Jim  say. 
with  casual  light-heartedness,  "Rosie  anywheres  about, 
Mr.  Fay?" 

The  old  man  having  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  hot- 
house, Jim  advanced  almost  to  the  door,  where  Thor,  on 
looking  over  his  shoulder,  saw  him  pause. 

It  was  a  curious  pause  for  one  so  self-confident  as  the 
young  Irishman — a  pause  like  that  of  a  man  grown  sud- 
denly doubtful,  timid,  distrustful.  His  hand  was  actually 
on  the  latch  when,  to  Thor's  surprise,  he  wheeled  away, 
returning  to  his  "team"  with  head  bent  and  stride  slack- 
ened thoughtfully.  By  the  time  he  had  mounted  the 
wagon,  however,  and  begun  to  tug  at  Maud  he  was 
whistling  the  popular  air  of  the  moment  with  no  more 
than  a  subdued  note  in  his  gaiety. 


CHAPTER  X 

BUT  Thor  was  pleased  with  the  idea  that  his  father 
could  scarcely  refuse  him  the  lease.  He  would  in 
fact  make  it  worth  his  while  not  to  do  so.  Rosie  Fay 
and  those  who  belonged  to  her  might,  therefore,  feel  solid 
ground  beneath  their  feet,  and  go  on  working  and,  if  need 
were,  suffering,  without  the  intolerable  dread  of  eviction. 
It  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  him  to  accomplish  this 
much,  whatever  the  dictates  of  honor  might  oblige  him 
to  forego. 

He  felt,  too,  that  he  was  getting  his  reward  when,  after 
Jim's  departure,  Rosie  nodded  through  the  glass  of  the 
hothouse,  giving  him  what  might  almost  be  taken  for  a 
smile.  He  forbore  to  go  to  her  at  once,  keeping  that 
pleasure  for  the  end  of  his  visit.  After  seeing  his  patient, 
there  were  generally  small  directions  to  give  the  daughter 
which  afforded  pretexts  for  lingering  in  her  company. 
His  patient  was  getting  better,  not  through  ministrations 
of  his  own,  but  through  some  mysterious  influence  exerted 
by  Reuben  Hilary.  As  a  man  of  science  and  a  skeptic, 
Thor.  was  slightly  impatient  of  this  aid,  even  though  he 
himself  had  invoked  it. 

He  was  half-way  up  the  stairs  on  his  way  to  the  bedroom 
in  the  mansard  roof  when,  on  hearing  a  man's  voice,  he 
paused.  The  voice  was  saying,  with  that  inflection  in 
which  there  was  no  more  than  a  hint  of  the  brogue : 

"Now  there's  what  we  were  talking  of  the  last  time  I 
was  here:  'Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it 
be  afraid.  Ye  believe  in  God;  believe  also  in  me.' 
There's  the  two  great  plagues  of  human  existence — fear 

79 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

and  trouble — staggered  for  you  at  a  blow.    And  you  do 
believe  in  God,  now,  don't  you?" 

Thor  had  turned  to  tiptoe  down  again  when  he  heard 
the  words,  spoken  in  the  rebellious  tones  with  which  he 
was  familiar,  modulated  now  to  an  odd  submissiveness : 
"I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not.  Isn't  there  some- 
thing in  the  Bible  about,  'Lord,  I  believe,  help  thou  mine 
unbelief?" 

"There  is,  and  it's  a  good  way  to  begin." 

Thor  was  out  in  the  yard  before  he  could  hear  more. 
Standing  for  a  minute  in  the  windy  sunshine,  he  wondered 
at  the  curious  phenomenon  presented  by  men  in  evident 
possession  of  their  faculties  who  relied  for  the  dispersion 
of  human  care  on  means  invisible  and  mystic.  The  fact 
that  in  this  case  he  himself  had  appealed  to  the  illusion 
rendered  the  working  of  it  none  the  less  astonishing.  His 
own  method  for  the  dispersion  of  human  care — and  the 
project  was  dear  to  him — was  by  dollars  and  cents.  It 
was,  moreover,  a  method  as  to  which  there  was  no  trouble 
in  proving  the  efficiency. 

He  took  up  the  subject  of  her  mother  with  Rosie,  who, 
with  the  help  of  Antonio,  was  rearranging  the  masses  of 
azaleas,  carnations,  and  poinsettias  after  the  depletion  of 
the  Christmas  sales.     "She's  really  better,  isn't  she?" 

Rosie  pushed  a  white  azalea  to  the  place  on  the  stand 
that  would  best  display  its  domelike  regularity.  "She 
seems  to  be." 

"What  do  you  think  has  helped  her?" 

She  gave  him  a  queer  little  sidelong  smile.  "You're 
the  doctor.     I  should  think  you'd  know." 

He  adored  those  smiles — constrained,  unwilling,  dis- 
trustful smiles  that  varied  the  occasional  earnest  looks 
that  he  got  from  her  green  eyes.  "  But  I  don't  know.  It 
isn't  anything  I  do  for  her." 

She  banked  two  or  three  azaleas  together,  so  that  their 
shades  of  pink  and  pomegranate-red  might  blend.  "  I  sup- 
pose it's  Dr.  Hilary." 

80 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"I  know  it's  Dr.  Hilary.  But  he  isn't  working  by- 
magic.  If  she's  getting  back  her  nerve  it  isn't  because  he 
wishes  it  on  her,  as  the  boys  say." 

Suspecting  all  his  approaches,  she  confined  herself  to 
saying,  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  speaking  like  a  guilty 
witness  under  cross-examination.  The  assiduity  of  his 
visits,  the  persistency  with  which  he  tried  to  make  her 
talk,  kept  her  the  more  carefully  on  her  guard  against  be- 
traying anything  unwarily. 

But  to  him  the  reserve  was  an  added  charm.  He  called 
it  shyness  or  coyness  or  maidenly  timidity,  according  to 
the  circumstance  that  called  it  forth;  but  whatever  it 
was,  this  apathy  to  his  passionate  dumb-show  piqued  him 
to  a  frenzy  infused  with  an  element  of  homage.  Any  other 
girl  in  her  situation  would  have  come  half-way  at  least 
toward  a  man  in  his.  His  training  having  rendered  him 
analytical  of  the  physical  side  of  things,  he  endeavored, 
more  or  less  unsuccessfully,  to  account  for  the  extraor- 
dinary transformation  in  himself,  whereby  every  nerve 
in  his  body  yearned  and  strained  toward  this  hard,  proud 
little  creature  who,  too  evidently — as  yet,  at  any  rate — 
refused  to  take  him  into  account.  She  made  him  feel 
like  a  man  signaling  in  the  dark  or  speaking  across  a 
vacuum  through  which  his  voice  couldn't  carry,  while  he 
was  conscious  at  the  same  time  of  searchings  of  heart 
at  making  the  attempts  to  do  either. 

He  was  beset  by  these  scruples  when,  after  taking  his 
runabout  from  the  garage,  in  order  to  go  to  town,  he  met 
Lois  Willoughby  in  the  Square.  On  the  instant  he  re- 
membered Dearlove's  counsel  of  a  few  days  earlier — "He'd 
'ave  to  ease  the  first  one  off  a  bit."  Whatever  was  to  be 
his  ultimate  decision,  the  wisdom  of  this  course  was  in- 
contestable. As  she  paused,  smiling,  expecting  him  to 
stop,  he  lifted  his  hat  and  drove  onward.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  his  imagination  that  caught  in  her  great,  velvety 
brown  eyes  an  expression  of  surprise  and  pain;  but 
whether  his  sight  was  accurate  or  not,  the  memory  of  the 

81 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

moment  smote  him.  The  process  of  "easing  the  first  one 
off"  would  probably  prove  difficult.  "I  shall  have  to 
explain  to  her  that  I  was  in  a  hurry,"  he  said,  to  comfort 
himself,  as  he  flew  onward  to  the  town. 

The  explanation  would  have  been  not  untrue,  since  he 
was  already  overdue  at  his  appointment  with  Mr.  William 
Darling,  his  grandfather's  executor. 

It  was  the  second  of  the  meetings  arranged  for  giving 
him  a  general  idea  of  the  estate  he  was  coming  into. 
At  the  first  he  had  gone  over  the  lists  of  stocks,  mortgages, 
and  bonds.  To-day,  with  a  map  of  the  city  and  the 
surrounding  country  spread  out,  partially  on  the  desk 
and  partially  over  Mr.  Darling's  knees  as  he  tilted  back 
in  a  revolving-chair,  Thor  learned  the  location  of  certain 
bits  of  landed  property  which  his  grandfather^  twenty  or 
thirty  years  before,  had  considered  good  investments. 
The  astuteness  of  this  ancestral  foresight  was  illustrated 
by  the  fact  that  Thor  was  a  richer  man  than  he  had  sup- 
posed. While  he  would  possess  no  enormous  wealth, 
according  to  the  newer  standards  of  the  day,  he  would 
have  something  between  thirty  and  forty  thousand  dollars 
of  yearly  income. 

"And  that,"  Mr.  Darling  explained  with  pride,  "at  a 
very  conservative  rate  of  investment.  You  could  easily 
have  more;  but  if  you  take  my  advice  you'll  not  be  in  a 
hurry  to  look  for  more  till  you  need  it.  I  don't  want  to 
hurt  any  one's  feelings.     You  surely  understand  that." 

Thor  was  not  sure  that  he  did  understand  it.  He  was 
not  sure;  and  yet  he  hesitated  to  ask  for  the  elucidation  of 
what  was  intended  perhaps  to  remain  cryptic.  In  a  small 
chair  drawn  up  beside  Mr.  Darling's  revolving  seat  of 
authority,  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  his  chin  supported  by  his 
fist,  he  studied  the  map. 

"I  don't  want  to  hurt  any  one's  feelings,"  the  lawyer 
declared  again,  "either  before  or  after  the  fact." 

This  time  an  intention  of  some  sort  was  so  evident  that 

82 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

Thor  felt  obliged  to  say,  "Do  you  mean  any  one  in  par- 
ticular, sir?" 

The  trustee  threw  the  map  from  off  his  knees,  and,  ris- 
ing, walked  to  the  window.  He  was  a  small,  neat,  sharp- 
eyed  man  of  fresh,  frosty  complexion,  his  exquisite  clothes 
making  him  something  of  a  dandy,  while  his  manner  of 
turning  his  head,  with  quick  little  jerks  and  perks,  re- 
minded one  of  a  bird.  At  the  window  he  stood  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  looking  over  the  jumble  of  nine- 
teenth-century roofs — out  of  which  an  occasional  "sky- 
scraper" shot  like  a  tower — to  where  a  fringe  of  masts 
and  funnels  edged  the  bay.  He  spoke  without  turning 
round. 

"I  don't  mean  any  one  in  particular  unless  there  should 
be  any  one  in  particular  to  mean." 

With  this  oracular  explanation  Thor  was  forced  to  be 
content,  and,  as  the  purpose  of  the  meeting  seemed  to  have 
been  accomplished,  he  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

Mr.  Darling  was  quick  in  showing  himself  not  only 
faithful  as  a  trustee,  but  cordial  as  a  man  of  the  world. 
"My  wife  would  like  you  to  come  and  see  her,"  he  said, 
in  shaking  hands.  "She  asked  me  to  say,  too,  that  she 
hopes  you  and  your  brother  will  come  to  the  dance  she's 
going  to  give  for  Elsie  in  the  course  of  a  month  or  two. 
You'll  get  your  cards  in  time." 

Warmly  expressing  the  pleasure  this  entertainment 
would  give  him,  while  knowing  in  his  heart  that  he 
wouldn't  attend  it,  the  young  man  took  his  departure. 

But  no  later  than  that  evening  he  began  to  perceive 
why  the  oracle  had  spoken.  Claude  having  excused  him- 
self from  dressing  for  dinner  on  the  ground  of  another 
mysterious  engagement  with  Billy  Cheever,  and  Mrs. 
Masterman  having  retired  up-stairs,  Thor  was  alone  in  the 
library  with  his  father. 

It  was  a  mellow  room,  in  which  the  bindings  of  long 
rows  of  books,  mostly  purchased  by  Grandpa  Thorley  in 

83 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"sets,"  an  admirable  white-marble  chimneypiece  in  a 
Georgian  style,  and  a  few  English  eighteenth-century 
prints  added  by  Archie  Masterman  himself,  disguised  the 
heavy  architectural  taste  of  the  sixties.  Grandpa  Thorley 
had  built  the  house  at  the  close  of  the  Civil  War,  the  end 
of  that  struggle  having  found  him — for  reasons  he  was 
never  eager  to  explain — a  far  richer  man  than  its  begin- 
ning. He  had  built  the  house,  not  on  his  own  old  farm, 
which  was  already  being  absorbed  into  the  suburban  por- 
tion of  the  city,  but  on  a  ten-acre  plot  in  County  Street, 
which,  with  its  rich  bordering  fields,  its  overarching  elms, 
and  its  lofty  sites,  was  revealing  itself  even  then  as  the 
predestined  quarter  of  the  wealthy.  So  long  as  there  had 
been  no  wealthy,  County  Street  had  been  only  a  village 
highway;  but  the  social  developments  following  on  the 
Civil  War  had  required  a  Faubourg  St.-Germain. 

In  this  house  Miss  Louisa  Thorley  had  grown  up  and 
been  wooed  by  Archie  Masterman.  It  had  been  the  woo- 
ing of  a  very  plain  girl  by  a  good-looking  lad,  and  had 
received  a  shock  when  Grandpa  Thorley  suspected  other 
motives  than  love  to  account  for  the  young  man's  ardor. 
Her  suitor  being  forbidden  the  house,  Miss  Thorley  had 
no  resource  but  to  meet  him  in  the  city  on  the  7th  of 
March,  1880,  and  go  with  him  to  a  convenient  parsonage. 
Thor  was  born  on  the  10th  of  February  of  the  year 
following.     Two  days  later  the  young  mother  died. 

Grandpa  Thorley  himself  held  out  for  another  ten  years, 
when  his  will  revealed  the  fact  that  he  had  taken  every 
precaution  to  keep  Archie  Masterman  from  profiting  by 
a  penny  of  the  Thorley  money.  So  strict  were  the  pro- 
visions of  this  document  that  on  the  father  was  thrown 
the  entire  cost  of  bringing  up  and  educating  Louisa 
Thorley's  son. 

But  Archie  Masterman  was  patient.  He  took  a  lease 
of  the  Thorley  house  when  Darling  &  Darling  as  executors 
put  it  in  the  market,  and  paid  all  the  rent  it  was  worth. 
Moreover,  there  had  never  been  a  moment  in  Thor's  life 

84 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

when  he  had  been  made  to  feel  that  his  maintenance  was  a 
burden  unjustly  thrown  on  one  who  could  ill  afford  to 
bear  it.  For  this  consideration  the  son  had  been  grateful 
ever  since  he  knew  its  character,  and  was  now  eager  to 
make  due  return. 

For  the  minute  he  was  moving  restlessly  about  the  room, 
not  knowing  what  to  say.  From  the  way  in  which  his 
father,  who  was  comfortably  stretched  in  an  arm-chair 
before  the  fire,  dropped  the  evening  paper  to  the  floor, 
while  he  puffed  silently  at  his  cigar,  Thor  knew  that  he 
was  expected  to  give  some  account  of  the  interview  be- 
tween himself  and  the  trustee  that  afternoon.  Any 
father  might  reasonably  look  for  such  a  confidence,  while 
the  conditions  of  affectionate  intimacy  in  which  the 
Masterman  family  lived  made  it  a  matter  of  course. 

The  son  was  still  marching  up  and  down  the  room, 
smoking  cigarettes  rapidly  and  throwing  the  butts  into 
the  fire,  when  he  had  completed  his  summary  of  the 
information  received  in  his  two  meetings  with  the 
executor. 

The  father  had  neither  interrupted  nor  asked  questions, 
but  he  spoke  at  last.  "What  did  you  say  was  the  ap- 
proximate value  of  the  whole  estate?" 

Thor  told  him. 

"And  of  the  income?" 

Thor  repeated  that  also. 

"Criminal." 

Thor  stopped  dead  for  an  instant,  but  resumed  his 
march.  He  had  stopped  in  surprise,  but  he  went  on  again 
so  as  to  give  the  impression  of  not  having  heard  the  last 
observation. 

"It's  criminal,"  the  father  explained,  with  repressed 
indignation,  "that  money  should  bring  in  so  trifling  a 
return." 

"He  said  it  was  very  conservatively  invested." 

"It's  damned  idiotically  invested.  Such  incompetence 
deserves  an  even  stronger  term.     If  my  own  money  didn't 

85 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

earn  more  for  me  than  that — well,  I'm  afraid  you  wouldn't 
have  seen  Vienna  and  Berlin." 

The  remark  gave  Thor  an  opening  he  was  glad  to  seize. 
"I  know  that,  father.  I  know  how  much  you've  spent 
for  me,  and  how  generous  you've  always  been,  with  Claude 
to  provide  for,  too;  and  now  that  I'm  to  have  enough  of 
my  own  I  want  to  repay  you  every — " 

"Don't  hurt  me,  my  boy.  You  surely  don't  think  I'd 
take  compensation  for  bringing  up  my  own  son.  It's 
not  in  the  least  what  I'm  driving  at.  I  simply  mean  that 
now  that  the  whole  thing  is  coming  into  your  own  hands 
you'll  probably  want  to  do  better  with  it  than  has  been 
done  heretofore." 

Thor  said  nothing.  There  was  a  long  silence  before  his 
father  went  on : 

"Even  if  you  didn't  want  me  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
it,  I  could  put  you  in  touch  with  people  who'd  give  you 
excellent  advice." 

Thor  paced  softly,  as  if  afraid  to  make  his  footfalls 
heard.  Something  within  him  seemed  frozen,  paralyzed. 
He  was  incapable  of  a  response. 

"Of  course,"  the  father  continued,  gently,  with  his 
engaging  lisp,  "I  can  quite  understand  that  you  shouldn't 
want  me  to  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  The  new 
generation  is  often  distrustful  of  the  old." 

Thor  beat  his  brains  for  something  to  say  that  would 
meet  the  courtesies  of  the  occasion  without  committing 
him;  but  his  whole  being  had  grown  dumb.  He  would 
have  been  less  humiliated  if  his  father  had  pleaded  with 
him  outright. 

"And  yet  I  haven't  done  so  badly,"  Masterman  con- 
tinued, with  pathos  in  his  voice.  "I  had  very  little  to 
begin  with.  When  I  first  went  into  old  Toogood's  office 
I  had  nothing  at  all.  I  made  my  way  by  thrift,  foresight, 
and  integrity.  I  think  I  can  say  as  much  as  that.  Your 
grandfather  Thorley  was  unjust  to  me;  but  I've  never 
resented  it,  not  by  a  syllable." 

86 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

It  was  a  relief  to  Thor  to  be  able  to  say  with  some 
heartiness,  "I  know  that,  father." 

"Not  that  I  didn't  have  some  difficult  situations  to  face 
on  account  of  it.  When  the  Toogood  executors  withdrew 
the  old  man's  money  it  would  have  gone  hard  with  me 
if  I  hadn't  been  able  to — to" — Thor  paused  in  his  walk, 
waiting  for  what  was  coming — "if  I  hadn't  been  able  to 
command  confidence  in  other  directions,"  the  father 
finished,  quietly. 

Thor  hastened  to  divert  the  conversation  from  his  own 
affairs.  "Mr.  Willoughby  put  his  money  in  then,  didn't 
he?" 

"That  was  one  thing,"  Masterman  admitted,  coldly. 

Thor  could  speak  the  more  daringly  because  his  march 
up  and  down  kept  him  behind  his  father's  back.  "And 
now,  I  understand,  you  think  of  dropping  him." 

"I  shouldn't  be  dropping  him.  That's  not  the  way  to 
put  it.  He  drops  himself — automatically."  The  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece  ticked  a  few  times  before  he  added, 
"I  can't  go  on  supporting  him." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he's  used  up  all  the  capital  he  put 
in?" 

"That's  what  it  comes  to.  He's  spent  enormous  sums. 
At  times  it's  been  near  to  crippling  me.  But  I  can't  keep 
it  up.  He's  got  to  go.  Besides,  the  big,  drunken  oaf  is  a 
disgrace  to  me.  I  can't  afford  to  be  associated  with  him 
any  longer." 

Thor  came  round  to  the  fireplace,  where  he  stood  on  the 
hearth-rug,  his  arm  on  the  mantelpiece.  "But,  father, 
what '11  he  do?" 

"Surely  that's  his  own  lookout.  Bessie's  got  money 
still.     I  didn't  get  all  of  it,  by  any  means." 

"No;  but  if  you've  got  most  of  it — " 

Masterman  shot  out  of  his  seat.  "Take  care,  Thor. 
I  object  to  your  way  of  expressing  yourself.  It's  offensive." 

"  I  only  mean,  father,  that  if  Mr.  Willoughby  saved  the 
business — " 

87 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"He  didn't  do  anything  of  the  kind,"  Masterman  said, 
sharply.  "No  one  knows  better  than  he  that  I  never 
wanted  him  at  all." 

But  Thor  ventured  to  speak  up.  "Didn't  you  tell 
mother  one  night  in  Paris,  when  we  were  there  in  1892, 
that  his  money  might  as  well  come  to  you  as  go  to  the 
deuce?  Mother  said  she  hated  business  and  didn't  want 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  She  hoped  you'd  let  the 
Willoughbys  and  their  money  alone.  Didn't  that  happen, 
father?" 

If  Thor  was  expecting  his  father  to  blanch  and  betray  a 
guilty  mind,  he  was  both  disappointed  and  relieved. 
"Possibly.  I've  no  recollection.  I  was  looking  for  some 
one  to  enter  the  business.  He  wasn't  my  ideal,  the  Lord 
knows;  and  yet  I  might  have  said  something  about  it — 
carelessly.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

The  son  tried  to  infuse  his  words  with  a  special  intensity 
as,  looking  straight  into  his  father's  eyes,  he  said,  "Be- 
cause I — I  remember  the  way  things  happened  at  the 
time." 

"Indeed?  And  may  I  ask  what  your  memories  lead 
you  to  infer?  They've  clearly  led  you  to  infer  some- 
thing." 

During  the  seconds  in  which  father  and  son  scrutinized 
each  other  Thor  felt  himself  backing  down  with  a  sort  of 
spiritual  cowardice.  He  didn't  want  to  accuse  his  father. 
He  shrank  from  the  knowledge  that  would  have  justified 
him  in  doing  so.  To  express  himself  with  as  little  stress 
as  possible,  he  said,  "They  lead  me  to  infer  that  we've 
some  moral  responsibility  toward  Mr.  Willoughby." 

Really  ?  That's  very  interesting.  Now,  I  should  have 
said  that  if  I'd  ever  had  any  I'd  richly  worked  it  off."  It 
was  perhaps  to  glide  away  from  the  points  already  raised 
that  he  asked:  "Aren't  you  a  little  hasty  in  looking  for 
moral  responsibility?  Let  me  see!  Who  was  it  the  last 
time?     Old  Fay,  wasn't  it?" 

Thor  flushed,  but  he  accepted  the  diversion.     He  even 

88 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

welcomed  it.  Such  glimpses  as  he  got  of  his  father's  mind 
appalled  him.  For  the  present,  at  any  rate,  he  would 
force  no  issue  that  would  verify  his  suspicions  and  compel 
him  to  act  upon  them.  Better  the  doubt.  Better  to 
believe  that  Willoughby  had  been  a  spendthrift.  He 
would  have  no  difficulty  as  to  that,  had  it  not  been  for 
those  dogging  memories  of  the  little  hotel  in  the  rue  de 
Rivoli. 

Besides,  as  he  said  to  himself,  he  had  his  own  ax  to 
grind.  He  endeavored,  therefore,  to  take  the  reference 
to  Fay  jocosely.  "That  reminds  me,"  he  smiled,  though 
the  smile  might  have  been  a  trifle  nervous,  "that  if  you 
don't  want  to  renew  Fay's  lease  when  it  falls  in,  I  wish 
you'd  make  it  over  to  me."  Disconcerted  by  the  look  of 
amazement  his  words  called  up,  he  hastened  to  add:  "I'd 
take  it  on  any  terms  you  please.  You've  only  got  to 
name  them." 

Masterman  backed  away  to  the  large  oblong  library 
table  strewn  with  papers  and  magazines.  He  seemed  to 
need  it  for  support.  His  tones  were  those  of  a  man 
amazed  to  the  point  of  awe.  "What  in  the  name  of 
Heaven  do  you  want  that  for?" 

Thor  steadied  his  nerve  by  lighting  a  cigarette.  "To 
give  me  a  footing  in  the  village.     I'm  going  into  politics." 

"O  Lord!" 

Thor  hurried  on.  "Yes,  I  know  how  you  feel.  But  to 
me  it  seems  a  duty." 

"Seems  a-^what?" 

The  son  felt  obliged  to  be  apologetic.  "  You  see,  father, 
so  few  men  of  the  old  American  stock  are  going  into 
politics  nowadays — " 

"Well,  why  should  they?" 

"The  country  has  to  be  governed." 

"Lots  of  fools  to  do  that  who  are  no  good  for  anything 
else.     Why  should  you  dirty  your  hands  with  it?" 

"That  isn't  the  way  I  look  at  it." 

"It's  the  way  you  will  look  at  it  when  you  know  a  little 
7  89 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

more  about  it  than  you  evidently  do  now.  Of  course, 
with  your  money  you'll  have  a  right  to  fritter  away  your 
time  in  anything  you  please;  but  as  your  father  I  feel 
that  I  ought  to  give  you  a  word  of  warning.  You 
wouldn't  be  a  Masterman  if  you  didn't  need  it — on  that 
score?" 

"What  score?" 

"The  score  of  being  caught  by  every  humbugging 
socialistic  scheme — " 

"I'm  not  a  socialist,  father." 

"Well,  what  are  you?     I  thought  you  were." 

"I'm  not  now.     I've  passed  that  phase." 

"That's  something  to  the  good,  at  any  rate." 

"With  politics  in  this  country  as  they  are — and  so 
many  alien  peoples  to  be  licked  into  shape — it's  no  use 
looking  for  the  state  to  undertake  anything  progressive 
for  another  two  hundred  years." 

"Ah!    Want  something  more  rapid-firing." 

"Want  something  immediate." 

"And  you've  found  it?" 

"Only  in  the  conviction  that  whatever's  to  be  done 
must  be  done  by  the  individual.  I've  no  theories  any 
longer.  I've  finished  with  them  all.  I'm  driven  back 
on  the  conclusion  that  if  anything  is  to  be  accomplished  in 
the  way  of  social  betterment  it  must  be  by  the  man-to-man 
process  in  one's  own  small  sphere.  If  we  could  get  that 
put  into  practice  on  a  considerable  scale  we  should  do 
more  than  the  state  will  be  able  to  carry  out  for  centuries 
to  come." 

"Put  what  into  practice?" 

"The  principle  that  no  man  shall  let  a  friend  or 
a  neighbor  suffer  without  relief  when  he  can  relieve 
him." 

"Thor,  you  should  have  been  God." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  God,  father.  But  if  I 
were  to  create  a  God,  I  should  make  that  his  first  com- 
mandment." 

90 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Masterman  squared  himself  in  front  of  his  son.  "So 
that's  behind  this  scheme  of  yours  for  taking  over  Fay's 
lease.  You're  trying  to  trick  me  into  doing  what  you 
know  I  won't  do  of  my  own  accord.  What  could  you 
do  with  the  lease  but  make  a  present  of  it  to  old 
Fay?  Politics  be  hanged!  Come,  now.  Be  frank  with 
me." 

Thor  threw  back  his  head.  "I  can't  be  wholly  frank 
with  you,  father;  but  I'll  be  as  frank  as  I  can.  I  do  want 
to  help  the  poor  old  chap;  you'd  be  sorry  for  him  if  you'd 
been  seeing  him  as  I  have;  but  that  was  only  one  of  my 
motives.  Leaving  politics  out  of  the  question,  I  have 
others.  But  I  don't  want  to  speak  of  them — yet.  Prob- 
ably I  shall  never  need  to  speak  of  them  at  all." 

Thor  was  willing  that  his  father  should  say,  "It's  the 
girl!"  but  he  contented  himself  with  the  curt  statement: 
"I'm  sorry,  Thor;  but  you  can't  have  the  lease.  I'm 
going  to  sell  the  place." 

"But,  father,"  the  young  man  cried,  "what's  to  become 
of  Fay?" 

"Isn't  that  what  you  asked  me  just  now  about  Len 
Willoughby?  Who  do  you  think  I  am,  Thor?  Am  I  in 
this  world  to  carry  every  lame  dog  on  my  back?" 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  every  lame  dog,  but  of  an  old 
tenant  and  an  old  friend." 

"Toward  whom  I  have  what  you're  pleased  to  call  a 
moral  responsibility.     Is  that  it?" 

"That's  it,  father— put  mildly." 

"Well,  I  don't  admit  your  moral  responsibility;  and, 
what's  more,  I'm  not  going  to  bear  it.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Thor  felt  himself  growing  white,  with  the  whiteness 
that  attended  one  of  his  surging  waves  of  wrath.  He 
clenched  his  fists.  He  drew  away.  But  he  couldn't  keep 
himself  from  saying,  quietly,  with  a  voice  that  shook  be- 
cause of  his  very  effort  to  keep  it  firm:  "All  right,  father. 
If  you  don't  bear  it,  I  will." 

9- 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

He  was  moving  toward  the  door  when  Archie  called 
after  him,  "Thor,  for  God's  sake,  don't  be  a  fool!" 

He  answered  from  the  threshold,  over  his  shoulder, 
"It's  no  use  asking  me  not  to  do  as  I've  said,  father,  be- 
cause I  can't  help  it."  He  was  in  the  hall  when  he  added, 
"And  if  I  could,  I  shouldn't  try." 


CHAPTER  XI 

BY  the  time  his  anger  had  cooled  down,  Thor  regretted 
the  words  with  which  he  had  left  his  father's  pres- 
ence, and  continued  to  regret  them.  They  were  braggart 
and  useless.  Whatever  he  might  feel  impelled  to  do, 
for  either  Leonard  Willoughby  or  Jasper  Fay,  he  could  do 
better  without  announcing  his  intentions  beforehand. 
He  experienced  a  sense  of  guilt  when,  on  the  next  day, 
and  for  many  days  afterward,  his  father  showed  by  his 
manner  that  he  had  been  wounded. 

Lois  Willoughby  showed  that  she,  too,  had  been 
wounded.  The  process  of  "easing  the  first  one  off,"  be- 
sides affording  him  side-lights  on  a  woman's  heart,  in- 
volved him  in  an  erratic  course  of  blowing  hot  and  cold 
that  defeated  his  own  ends.  When  he  blew  cold  the  chill 
was  such  that  he  blew  hotter  than  ever  to  disperse  it.  He 
could  see  for  himself  that  this  seeming  capriciousness 
made  it  difficult  for  Lois  to  preserve  the  equal  tenor  of 
her  bearing,  though  she  did  her  best. 

He  had  kept  away  from  her  for  a  week  or  more,  and 
would  have  continued  to  do  so  longer  had  he  not  been 
haunted  by  the  look  his  imagination  conjured  up  in  her 
eyes.  He  knew  its  trouble,  its  bewilderment,  its  reflected 
heartache.  "I'm  a  damned  cad,"  he  said  to  himself; 
and  whenever  he  worked  himself  up  to  that  point  remorse 
couldn't  send  him  quickly  enough  to  pay  her  a  visit  of 
atonement. 

He  knew  she  was  at  home  because  he  met  one  or  two 
of  the  County  Street  ladies  coming  away  from  the  house. 
With  knowing  looks  they  told  him  he  should  find  her. 

93 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

They  did  not,  however,  tell  him  that  she  had  another 
visitor,  whose  voice  he  recognized  while  depositing  his 
hat  and  overcoat  on  one  of  the  Regency  chairs  in  the 
tapestried  square  hall. 

"Oh,  don't  go  yet,"  Lois  was  saying.  " Here's  Dr.  Thor 
Masterman.     He'll  want  to  see  you." 

But  Rosie  insisted  on  taking  her  departure,  making 
polite  excuses  for  the  length  of  her  call. 

She  was  deliriously  pretty;  he  saw  that  at  once  on 
entering.  Wearing  the  new  winter  suit  for  which  she  had 
pinched  and  saved,  and  a  hat  of  the  moment's  fashion, 
she  easily  dazzled  Thor,  though  Lois  could  perceive,  in 
details  of  material,  the  "cheapness"  that  in  American 
eyes  is  the  most  damning  of  all  qualities.  Rosie's  face 
was  bright  with  the  flush  of  social  triumph,  for  the 
County  Street  ladies  had  been  kind  to  her,  and  she  had 
had  tea  with  all  the  ceremony  of  which  she  read  in  the 
accredited  annals  of  good  society.  If  she  had  not  been 
wondering  whether  or  not  the  County  Street  ladies  knew 
her  brother  was  in  jail,  she  could  have  suppressed  all  other 
causes  for  anxiety  and  given  herself  freely  to  the  hour's 
bliss. 

But  she  would  not  be  persuaded  to  remain,  taking  her 
leave  with  a  full  command  of  graceful  niceties.  Thor 
could  hardly  believe  she  was  his  fairy  of  the  hothouse. 
She  was  a  princess,  a  marvel.  "Beats  them  all,"  he  said, 
gleefully,  to  himself,  referring  to  the  ladies  of  County 
Street,  and  almost  including  Lois  Willoughby. 

He  did  not  quite  include  her.  He  perceived  that  he 
couldn't  do  so  when,  after  having  bowed  Rosie  to  the  door, 
he  returned  to  take  his  seat  in  the  drawing-room.  There 
was  a  distinction  about  Lois,  he  admitted  to  himself,  that 
neither  prettiness  nor  fine  clothes  nor  graceful  niceties 
could  rival.  He  wondered  if  she  wasn't  even  more  dis- 
tinguished since  this  new  something  had  come  into  her 
life — was  it  joy  or  grief? — which  he  himself  had  brought 
there. 

94 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Her  greeting  to  him  was  of  precisely  the  same  shade  as 
all  her  greetings  during  the  past  two  months.  It  was  like 
something  rehearsed  and  executed  to  perfection.  When 
she  had  given  him  his  tea  and  poured  another  cup  for 
herself,  they  talked  of  Rosie. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  in  a  musing  tone,  "I  think 
the  poor  little  thing  has  really  enjoyed  being  here  this 
afternoon?" 

"Why  shouldn't  she?" 

"Yes,  but  why  should  she?  Apart  from  the  very  slight 
novelty  of  the  thing — which  to  an  American  girl  is  no 
real  novelty,  after  all — I  don't  understand  what  it  is  she 
cares  so  much  about?" 

He  weighed  the  question  seriously.  "She  finds  a  world 
of  certain — what  shall  I  say? — of  certain  amenities  to 
which  she's  equal — any  one  can  see  that ! — and  which  she 
hasn't  got.  That's  something  in  itself — to  a  girl  with 
imagination." 

"I  think  she's  in  love,"  Lois  said,  suddenly. 

Thor  was  startled.  "Oh  no,  she  isn't.  She  can't  be. 
Who  on  earth  could  she  be  in  love  with?" 

"Oh,  it's  not  with  you.  Don't  be  alarmed,"  Lois 
smiled.  It  was  so  like  Thor  to  be  shy  of  a  pretty  girl. 
He  had  been  so  ever  since  she  could  remember  him. 

"That's  good,"  he  managed  to  say.  He  regained  con- 
trol of  himself,  though  he  tingled  all  over.  "It  would 
have  to  be  with  me  or  Dr.  Hilary.  We're  the  only  two 
men,  except  the  Italians,  who  ever  appear  on  the  place." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know,"  Lois  said,  pensively.  "Girls 
like  that  often  have  what  they  call,  rather  picturesquely, 
a  fellow." 

"Oh,  don't!"  His  cry  was  instantly  followed  by  a 
nervous  laugh.  He  felt  obliged  to  explain.  "It's  so 
funny  to  hear  you  talk  like  that.  It  doesn't  go  with 
your  style." 

She  took  this  pleasantly  and  they  spoke  of  other  things ; 
but  Thor  was  eager  to  get  away.     A  real  visit  of  atonement 

95 


THE    SIDE   OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  become  impossible.  That  must  be  put  off  for  another 
day — perhaps  for  ever.  He  wasn't  sure.  He  couldn't 
tell.  For  the  minute  his  head  was  in  a  whirl.  He 
hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying,  except  that  his  rejoinders 
to  Lois's  remarks  were  more  or  less  at  random.  Vital 
questions  were  pounding  through  his  brain  and  demanding 
an  answer.  Who  knew  but  that  with  regard  to  Rosie  she 
was  right — and  yet  wrong?  Women,  with  their  remark- 
able powers  of  divination,  didn't  always  hit  the  nail 
directly  on  the  head.  It  might  be  the  case  with  Lois  now. 
She  might  be  right  in  her  surmise  that  Rosie  was  in  love, 
and  mistaken  in  those  light  and  cruel  words:  "Oh,  not 
with  you!"  He  didn't  suppose  it  was  with  him.  And 
yet  .  .  .  and  yet  .  .  .  ! 

He  got  away  at  last,  and  tore  through  the  winter 
twilight  toward  the  old  apple-orchard  above  the  pond. 
He  knew  what  he  would  say.  "Rosie,  are  you  in  love 
with  any  one?  If  so,  for  God's  sake,  tell  me."  What 
he  would  do  when  she  answered  him  was  matter  outside 
his  present  capacity  for  thought. 

It  had  begun  to  snow.  By  the  time  he  reached  the 
house  on  the  hill  his  shoulders  were  white.  The  necessity 
for  shaking  himself  in  the  little  entry  gave  the  first  prosaic 
chill  to  his  ardor. 

Rosie  had  returned  and  was  preparing  supper.  The 
princess  and  marvel  had  resolved  herself  again  into  the 
fairy  of  the  hothouse.  Not  that  Thor  minded  that. 
What  disconcerted  him  was  her  dry  little  manner  of  sur- 
prise. She  had  not  expected  him.  There  was  nothing 
in  her  mother's  condition  to  demand  his  call.  She  herself 
was  busy.  She  had  come  from  the  kitchen  to  answer  the 
door.     A  smell  of  cooking  filled  the  house. 

No  one  of  these  details  could  have  kept  him  from 
carrying  out  his  purpose;  but  together  they  were  unro- 
mantic.  How  could  he  adjure  her  to  tell  him  for  God's 
sake  whether  or  not  she  was  in  love  with  any  one  when  he 

96 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

saw  she  was  afraid  that  something  was  burning  on  the 
stove?  He  could  only  stammer  out  excuses  for  having 
come.  Inventing  on  the  spot  new  and  incoherent  direc- 
tions for  the  treatment  of  Mrs.  Fay,  he  took  himself  away 
again,  not  without  humiliation. 

Being  in  a  savage  mood  as  he  stalked  down  the  hill, 
he  was  working  himself  into  a  rage  when  an  unexpected 
occurrence  gave  him  other  things  to  think  of. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  just  below  the  slope  of  the  Square, 
was  the  terminus  of  the  electric  tram-line  from  the  city. 
In  summer  it  was  a  pretty  spot,  well  shaded  by  ornamental 
trees,  with  a  small  Gothic  church  and  its  parsonage  in 
the  center  of  a  trimly  kept  lawn.  It  was  prettier  still 
as  Thor  Masterman  approached  it,  at  the  close  of  a  win- 
ter's day,  with  the  great  soft  flakes,  heaping  their  beauty 
on  roof  and  shrub  and  roadway,  the  whole  lit  up  with 
plenty  of  cheerful  electricity,  and  no  eye  to  behold  it 
but  his  own. 

Because  of  this  purity  and  solitude  a  black  spot  was 
the  more  conspicuous ;  and  because  it  was  a  moving  black 
spot  it  caught  the  onlooker's  glance  at  once.  It  was  a 
moving  black  spot,  though  it  remained  in  one  place — on 
the  cement  seat  that  circled  a  copper-beech-tree  for  the 
convenience  of  villagers  waiting  for  the  cars.  It  was 
extraordinary  that  any  one  should  choose  this  uninviting, 
snow-covered  resting-place,  unless  he  couldn't  do  other- 
wise. 

The  doctor  in  Thor  was  instantly  alert,  but  before 
advancing  many  paces  he  had  made  his  guess.  Patients 
were  beginning  to  take  his  time,  rendering  his  after- 
noons less  free;  and  so  what  might  have  been  expected 
had  happened.  Mr.  Willoughby  had  managed  to  come 
homeward  by  the  electric  car,  but  was  unable  to  go  any 
farther. 

Nevertheless,  Thor  was  startled  as  he  crossed  the  road- 
way to  hear  a  great  choking  sob.  The  big  creature 
was  huddled  somehow  on  the  seat,  but  with  face  and 

97 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

arms  turned  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  against  whose  cold 
bark  he  wept.  He  wept  shamelessly  aloud,  with  broken 
exclamations  of  which  "0  my  God!  0  my  God!"  was  all 
that  Thor  could  hear  distinctly. 

"It's  delirium  this  time,  for  sure,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  great  snow-heaped  shoulder. 

He  changed  his  mind  on  that  score  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Willoughby  was  able  to  speak  coherently.  "I'm  heart- 
broken, Thor.  Haven't  touched  a  thing  to-day — scarcely. 
But  I'm  all  in." 

More  sobs  followed.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Thor 
could  get  the  lumbering  body  on  its  feet.  "You  mustn't 
stay  here,  Mr.  Willoughby.  You'll  catch  cold.  Come 
along  home  with  me." 

"I  do'  wan'  to  go  home,  Thor.  Got  no  home  now. 
Ruined — tha's  what  I  am.  Ruined.  Your  father's  kicked 
me  out.  All  my  money  gone.  No'  a  cent  left  in  the 
world." 

Thor  dragged  him  onward.  "But  you  must  come  home 
just  the  same,  Mr.  Willoughby.  You  can't  stay  out  here. 
The  next  car  will  be  along  in  a  minute,  and  every  one 
will  see  you." 

"I  do'  care  who  sees  me,  Thor.  I'm  ruined.  Father 
says  I'll  have  to  go.  Got  all  the  papers  ready.  O  my 
God!  what  '11  Bessie  say?" 

As  they  stumbled  forward  through  the  snow  Thor  tried 
to  learn  what  had  happened. 

"Got  all  my  money  and  then  kicked  me  out, '\  was  the 
only  explanation.  "Not  a  cent  in  the  world.  What '11 
Bessie  say?  Oh,  what  '11  Bessie  say?  All  her  money. 
Hasn't  got  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  left  out  of  tha' 
grea'  big  estate.  Make  away  with  myself.  Tha's  what 
I'll  do.    O  my  God!  my  God!" 

On  arriving  in  front  of  the  house  Thor  saw  lights  in  the 
drawing-room.  Lois  was  probably  still  there.  It  was  no 
more  than  a  half-hour  since  he  had  left  her,  and  other 
callers  might  have  succeeded  him.    He  tried  to  steer  his 

98 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

charge  round  the  corner  toward  the  side  entrance  in 
Willoughby's  Lane. 

But  Len  grew  querulous.  "I  do'  want  to  go  in  the  side 
door.  Go  in  the  front  door,  hang  it  all!  Father  can't 
turn  me  out  of  my  own  house,  the  infernal  hound." 

The  door  opened,  and  Lois  stood  in  the  oblong  of  light. 
"Oh,  what  is  it?"  she  cried,  peering  outward.  "Is  it 
you,  Thor?    What's  the  matter?" 

"Treat  me  like  a  servant,"  Willoughby  complained, 
as,  with  Thor  supporting  him,  he  stumbled  up  the  steps. 
"  I  do'  want  to  go  in  the  side  door.  Front  door  good  enough 
for  me.  No  confounded  kitchen-boy,  if  I  am  ruined. 
Look  here,  Lois,"  he  rambled  on,  when  he  had  got  into 
the  hall  and  Thor  was  helping  him  to  take  off  his  over- 
coat— "look  here,  Lois;  we  haven't  got  a  cent  in  the 
world.  Tha's  wha'  we  haven't  got — not  a  cent  in  the 
world.  Archie  Masterman's  got  my  money,  and  your 
money,  and  your  mother's  money,  and  the  whole  damned 
money  of  all  of  us.  Kicked  me  out  now.  No  good  to 
him  any  more." 

With  some  difficulty  Thor  got  him  to  his  room,  where 
he  undressed  him  and  put  him  to  bed.  On  his  return 
to  the  hall  he  found  Lois  seated  in  one  of  the  arm-chairs, 
her  face  pale. 

"Oh,  Thor,  is  this  what  you  meant  a  few  weeks  ago?" 

He  did  his  best  to  explain  the  situation  to  her  gently. 
"I  don't  know  just  what's  happened,  but  I'm  afraid 
there's  trouble  ahead." 

She  nodded.  "Yes;  I've  been  expecting  it,  and  now 
I  suppose  it's  come." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  had.  But  you  must  be 
brave,  Lois,  and  not  think  matters  worse  than  they  are." 

"Oh,  I  sha'n't  do  that,"  she  said,  with  a  hint  of  haughti- 
ness at  his  solicitude.  "Don't  worry  about  me.  I'm 
quite  capable  of  bearing  whatever's  to  be  borne.  Please 
go  on." 

"If  anything  has  happened,"  he  said,  speaking  from 

99 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

where  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  "it's  that  father 
wants  to  dissolve  the  partnership." 

"I've  been  looking  for  that.    So  has  mamma." 

"And  if  they  do  dissolve  the  partnership,  I'm  afraid — 
I'm  afraid  there  '11  be  very  little  money  coming  to  Mr. 
Willoughby." 

"Whose  fault  would  that  be?" 

"Frankly,  Lois,  I  don't  know.  It  might  be  that  of 
my  father  or  of  yours — " 

"And  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  want  to  find  out." 

He  looked  down  at  her  curiously.  "Why  do  you  say 
that?    Shouldn't  you?" 

She  seemed  to  shiver.  "Why  should  I?  If  the  money's 
gone,  it's  gone.  Whether  my  father  has  squandered  it 
or  your  father  has — "  She  rose  and  crossed  the  hall  to 
the  stairs,  where,  with  a  foot  on  the  lowest  of  the  steps, 
she  leaned  on  the  pilaster  of  the  balustrade.  "I  don't 
want  to  know,"  she  said,  with  energy.  "If  the  money's 
gone,  they've  shuffled  it  away  between  them;  and  I 
don't  see  that  it  would  help  either  you  or  me  to  find  out 
who's  to  blame." 

It  was  a  minute  at  which  Thor  could  easily  have  brought 
out  the  words  which  for  so  many  years  he  had  supposed 
he  would  one  day  speak  to  her.  His  pity  was  such  that 
it  would  have  been  a  luxury  to  tell  her  to  throw  all  the 
material  part  of  her  care  on  him.  If  he  could  have  said 
that  much  without  saying  more  he  would  have  had  no 
hesitation.  But  there  was  still  a  chance  of  the  miracle 
happening  with  regard  to  Rosie  Fay.  Love  was  love — 
and  sweet.  It  was  first  love,  and,  in  its  way,  it  was  young 
love.  It  was  springtide  love.  The  dew  of  the  morning 
was  on  it,  and  the  freshness  of  sunrise.  It  was  hard  to 
renounce  it,  even  to  go  to  the  aid  of  one  whose  need  of 
him  was  so  desperate  that  to  hide  it  she  turned  her  face 
away.  Instead  of  the  words  of  cheer  and  rescue  that  were 
almost  gushing  to  his  lips,  he  said,  soberly: 

" Has  your  mother  any  idea  of  what's  going  on?" 

ioo 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  began  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down.  "Oh,  she's 
been  worried  for  the  last  few  weeks.  She  couldn't  help 
knowing  something.  Papa's  been  dropping  so  many  hints 
that  she's  been  meaning  to  see  your  father." 

"I  suppose  it  will  be  very  hard  for  her." 

She  paused,  confronting  him.  "It  will  be  at  first. 
But  she'll  rise  to  it.  She  does  that  kind  of  thing.  You 
don't  know  mother.  Very  few  people  do.  She  simply 
adores  papa.  It's  pathetic.  All  this  time  that  he's  been 
so — so — she  won't  recognize  it.  She  won't  admit  for  a 
second — or  let  me  admit  it — that  he's  anything  but  tired 
or  ill.  It's  splendid — and  yet  there's  something  about  it 
that  almost  breaks  my  heart.  Mamma  has  lots  of  pluck, 
you  know.    You  mightn't  think  it — " 

"Oh,  I  know  it." 

"I'm  glad  you  do.  People  in  general  see  only  one  side 
of  her,  but  it's  not  the  only  side.  She  has  her  weaknesses. 
I  see  that  well  enough.  She's  terribly  a  woman;  and  she 
can't  grow  old.  But  that's  not  criminal,  is  it?  There's  a 
great  deal  in  her  that's  never  been  called  on,  and  perhaps 
this  trouble  will  bring  it  out." 

He  spoke  admiringly.  "It  will  bring  out  a  great  deal 
in  you." 

She  began  again  to  pace  up  and  down.  "Oh,  me!  I'm 
so  useless.  I've  never  been  of  any  help  to  any  one.  Do 
you  know,  at  times,  latterly,  I've  envied  that  little  Rosie 
Fay?" 

"Why?" 

"Because  she's  got  duties  and  responsibilities  and  strug- 
gles. She's  got  something  more  to  do  than  dress  and  play 
tennis  and  make  calls.  There  are  people  who  depend 
on  her — " 

"She's  splendid,  isn't  she?" 

She  paused  in  her  restless  pacing.  "She  might  be. 
She  is — very  nearly." 

Though  he  had  taken  the  opportunity  to  get  further 
away  from  the  appeal  of  her  distress,  he  felt  a  pang  of 

IOI 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

humiliation  in  the  promptness  with  which  she  followed 
his  lead. 

But  he  couldn't  go  on  with  the  discussion.  It  was  too 
sickening.  Every  inflection  of  her  voice  implied  that  with 
her  own  need  he  had  no  longer  anything  to  do — that  it 
was  all  over — that  she  recognized  the  fact — that  she  was 
trying  her  utmost  to  let  him  off  easily.  That  she  should 
suspect  the  truth,  or  connect  the  change  with  Rosie  Fay, 
he  knew  was  out  of  the  question.  It  was  not  the  way  in 
which  her  mind  would  work.  If  she  accounted  for  the 
situation  at  all  it  would  probably  be  on  the  ground 
that  when  it  came  to  the  point  he  had  found  that  he 
didn't  care  for  her.  The  promises  he  had  tacitly  made 
and  she  had  tacitly  understood  she  was  ready  to  give 
back. 

He  was  quite  alive  to  the  fact  that  her  generosity  made 
his  impotence  the 'more  pitiable.  That  he  should  stand 
tongue-tied  and  helpless  before  the  woman  whom  he  had 
allowed  to  think  that  she  could  count  on  him  was  galling 
not  only  to  his  manhood,  but  to  all  those  primary  instincts 
that  sent  him  to  the  aid  of  weakness.  There  was  a  minute 
in  which  it  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  did  not  on  the  instant 
redeem  his  self-respect  it  would  be  lost  to  him  for  ever. 
After  all,  he  did  care  for  her — in  a  way.  There  was  no 
woman  in  the  world  toward  whom  he  felt  an  equal  degree 
of  reverence.  More  than  that,  there  was  no  woman  in  the 
world  whom  he  could  admit  so  naturally  to  share  his  life, 
whose  life  he  himself  could  so  naturally  share.  If  Rosie 
were  to  marry  him,  the  whole  process  would  be  different. 
In  that  case  there  would  be  no  sharing;  there  would  be 
nothing  but  a  wild,  gipsy  joy.  His  delight  would  be  to 
heap  happiness  upon  her,  content  with  her  acceptance 
and  the  very  little  which  was  all  he  could  expect  her  to 
give  him  in  return.  With  Lois  Willoughby  it  would  be 
equality,  partnership,  companionship,  and  a  life  of  mutual 
comprehension  and  respect.  That  would  be  much,  of 
course;    it  was  what  a  few  months  ago  he  would  have 

102 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

thought  enough;  it  was  plainly  that  with  which  he  must 
manage  to  be  satisfied. 

He  was  about  to  plunge  in — to  plunge  in  with  one  last 
backward  look  to  the  more  exquisite  joys  he  must  leave 
behind — and  tell  her  that  his  strength  and  loyalty  were 
hers  to  dispose  of  as  she  would  when  she  herself  unwit- 
tingly balked  the  impulse. 

It  was  still  to  hold  open  to  him  the  way  of  escape  that 
she  continued  to  speak  of  Rosie.  "If  she  were  to  marry 
some  nice  fellow,  like  Jim  Breen,  for  instance — " 

Thor  bounded.    "  Like— who  ?" 

She  was  too  deeply  preoccupied  with  her  own  emotions 
to  notice  his.  "He  was  attentive  to  her  for  a  long  time 
once." 

He  cried  out,  incredulously:  "Oh  no;  it  couldn't  be. 
She's  too — too  superior." 

"I'm  afraid  the  superiority  is  just  the  trouble — though 
I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  beyond  the  gossip  one 
hears  in  the  village.  Any  one  who  goes  to  so  many  of 
the  working  people's  houses  as  I  do  hears  it  all." 

He  was  still  incredulous.    "And  you've  heard — that  ?  " 

"I've  heard  that  poor  Jim  wanted  to  marry  her — and 
she  wouldn't  look  at  him.  It's  a  pity,  I  think.  She'd  be 
a  great  deal  happier  in  marrying  a  man  with  the  same  kind 
of  ways  as  herself  than  she'd  be  with  some  one — I  can  only 
put  it,"  she  added,  with  a  rueful  smile,  "in  a  way  you 
don't  like,  Thor — than  she'd  be  with  some  one  of  another 
station  in  life." 

His  heart  pounded  so  that  he  could  hardly  trust  himself 
to  speak  with  the  necessary  coolness.  "  Is  there  any  ques- 
tion of — of  any  one  of  another  station  in  life?" 

"N-no;  only  that  if  she  is  in  love — and  of  course  I'm 
only  guessing  at  it — I  think  it's  very  likely  to  be  with 
some  one  of  that  kind." 

The  statement  which  was  thrown  out  with  gentle 
indifference  affected  him  so  profoundly  that  had  she 
again  declared  that  it  was  not  with  him  he  could  have 

103 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

taken  it  with  equanimity.  With  whom  else  could  it  be? 
It  wasn't  with  Antonio,  and  it  wasn't  with  Dr.  Hilary. 
There  was  the  choice.  Were  there  any  other  rival,  he 
couldn't  help  knowing  it.  He  had  sometimes  suspected — 
no,  it  was  hardly  enough  for  suspicion ! — he  had  sometimes 
hoped — but  it  had  been  hardly  enough  for  hope! — and 
yet  sometimes,  when  she  gave  him  that  dim,  sidelong 
smile  or  turned  to  him  with  the  earnest,  wide-open  look 
in  her  greenish  eyes,  he  had  thought  that  possibly — just 
possibly  .  .  . 

He  didn't  know  what  answers  he  made  to  her  further 
remarks.  A  faint  memory  remained  with  him  of  talking 
incoherently  against  reason,  against  sentiment,  against 
time,  as,  with  her  velvety  regard  resting  upon  him  sadly, 
he  swung  on  his  overcoat  and  hurried  to  take  his  leave. 


CHAPTER  XII 

HE  hurried  because  inwardly  he  was  running  away 
from  the  figure  he  had  cut.  Never  had  he  supposed 
that  in  any  one's  time  of  need — to  say  nothing  of  hers! — 
he  could  have  proved  so  worthless.  And  he  hurried 
because  he  knew  a  decision  one  way  or  the  other  had  be- 
come imperative.  And  he  hurried  because  his  failure 
convinced  him  that  so  long  as  there  was  a  possibility  that 
Rosie  cared  for  him  secretly  he  would  never  do  anything 
for  Lois  Willoughby.  Whatever  his  sentiment  toward 
the  woman-friend  of  his  youth,  he  was  tied  and  bound  by 
the  stress  of  a  love  of  which  the  call  was  primitive.  He 
might  be  over-abrupt;  he  might  startle  her;  but  at  the 
worst  he  should  escape  from  this  unbearable  state  of 
inactivity. 

So  he  hurried.  It  had  stopped  snowing;  the  evening 
was  now  fair  and  cold.  As  it  was  nearly  six  o'clock,  his 
father  would  probably  have  come  home.  He  would  make 
him  first  an  offer  of  new  terms,  and  he  would  see  Rosie 
afterward.  His  excitement  was  such  that  he  knew  he 
could  neither  eat  nor  sleep  till  the  questions  in  his  heart 
were  answered. 

But  on  reaching  his  own  gate  he  was  surprised  to  see 
Mrs.  Willoughby's  motor  turn  in  at  the  driveway  and  roll 
up  to  the  door.  It  was  not  that  there  was  anything  strange 
in  her  paying  his  mother  a  call,  but  to-day  the  circum- 
stances were  unusual.  Anything  might  happen.  Anything 
might  have  happened  already.  On  reaching  the  door 
he  let  himself  in  with  misgiving. 

He  recognized  the  visitor's  voice  at  once,  but  there  was 
8  105 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

a  note  in  it  he  had  never  heard  before.    It  was  a  plaintive 
note,  and  rather  childlike: 

"Oh,  Ena,  what's  become  of  my  money?" 

His  mother's  inflections  were  as  childlike  as  the  other's, 
and  as  full  of  distress.  "How  do  I  know,  Bessie?  Why 
don't  you  ask  Archie?" 

"  I  have  asked  him.  I've  just  come  from  there.  I  can't 
make  out  anything  he  says.  He's  been  trying  to  tell  me 
that  we've  spent  it — when  I  know  we  haven't  spent  it." 

There  were  tears  in  Ena's  voice  as  she  said:  "Well,  I 
can't  explain  it,  Bessie.  /  don't  know  anything  about 
business." 

From  where  he  stood,  with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  as 
he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  Thor  could  see  into  the 
huge,  old-fashioned,  gilt-framed  mirror  over  the  chimney- 
piece  in  the  drawing-room.  The  two  women  were  stand- 
ing, separated  by  a  small  table  which  supported  an  azalea 
in  bloom.  His  stepmother,  in  a  soft,  trailing  house-gown, 
her  hands  behind  her  back,  seemed  taller  and  slenderer 
than  ever  in  contrast  to  Mrs.  Willoughby's  dumpiness, 
dwarfed  as  it  was  by  an  enormous  muff  and  encumbering 
furs. 

The  latter  drew  herself  up  indignantly.  Her  tone 
changed.  "You  do  know  something  about  business, 
Ena.  You  knew  enough  about  it  to  drag  Len  and  me  into 
what  we  never  would  have  thought  of  doing,  if  you  and 
Archie  hadn't — " 

"I?    Why,  Bessie,  you  must  be  crazy." 

"  I'm  not  crazy;  though  God  knows  it's  enough  to  make 
me  so.  I  remember  everything  as  if  it  had  happened 
this  afternoon." 

There  was  a  faint  scintillation  in  the  diamonds  in 
Ena's  brooch  and  ear-rings  as  she  tossed  her  head.  "If 
you  do  that  you  must  recall  that  I  was  afraid  of  it  from 
the  first." 

Bessie  was  quick  to  detect  the  admission.  "Why?" 
she  demanded.    "If  you  were  afraid  of  it,  why  were  you 

106 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

afraid?  You  weren't  afraid  without  seeing  something 
to  be  afraid  of." 

Mrs.  Masterman  nearly  wept.  "  I  don't  know  anything 
about  business  at  all,  Bessie." 

"Oh,  don't  tell  me  that,"  Bessie  broke  in,  fiercely. 
"You  knew  enough  about  it  to  see  that  Archie  wanted 
our  money  in  1892." 

"But  I  hadn't  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"Hadn't  anything  to  do  with  it?  Then  who  had? 
Who  was  it  suggested  to  me  that  Len  should  go  into 
business? — one  evening? — in  the  Hotel  de  Marsan? — after 
dinner?    Who  was  that?" 

"If  I  said  anything  at  all  it  was  that  I  hated  business 
and  everything  that  had  to  do  with  it." 

"Oh,  I  can  understand  that  well  enough,"  Bessie  ex- 
claimed, scornfully.  "You  hated  it  because  you  saw  al- 
ready that  your  husband  was  going  to  ruin  us.  Come 
now,  Ena!     Didn't  you?" 

Mrs.  Masterman  protested  tearfully.  "I  didn't  know 
anything  about  it.  I  only  wished  that  Archie  would  let 
you  and  your  money  alone — and  I  wish  it  still." 

"Very  well,  then!"  Bessie  cried,  flinging  her  hands 
outward  dramatically.  "Isn't  that  what  I'm  saying? 
You  knew  something.  You  knew  it  and  you  let  us  go 
ahead.  You  not  only  let  us  go  ahead,  but  you  led  us  on. 
You  could  see  already  that  Archie  was  spinning  his  web 
like  a  spider,  and  that  he'd  catch  us  as  flies.  Now  didn't 
you?  Tell  the  truth,  Ena.  Wasn't  it  in  your  mind  from 
the  first?  Long  before  it  was  in  his?  I'll  say  that  for 
Archie,  that  I  don't  suppose  he  really  meant  to  ruin  us, 
while  you  knew  he  would.  That's  the  difference  between 
a  man  and  his  wife.  The  man  only  drifts,  but  the  wife 
sees  years  ahead  what  he's  drifting  to.    You  saw  it,  Ena — " 

When  his  stepmother  bowed  her  head  to  sob  into  her 
handkerchief  Thor  ventured  to  enter  the  room.  Neither 
of  the  women  noticed  him. 

"I  must  say,  Ena,"  Bessie  continued,  "that  seems  to  me 

107 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

frightful.  I  don't  know  what  you  can  be  made  of  that 
you've  lived  cheerfully  through  these  last  eighteen  years 
when  you  knew  what  was  coming.  If  it  had  been  coming 
to  yourself — well,  that  might  be  borne.  But  to  stand  by 
and  watch  for  it  to  overtake  some  one  else — some  one 
who'd  always  been  your  friend — some  one  you  liked,  for 
I  do  believe  you've  liked  me,  in  your  way  and  my  way — 
that,  I  must  say,  is  the  limit — cela  passe  les  bornes.  Now, 
doesn't  it?" 

Mrs.  Masterman  struggled  to  speak,  but  her  sobs 
prevented  her. 

"In  a  way  it's  funny,"  Bessie  continued,  philosoph- 
ically, "how  bad  a  good  woman  can  be.  You're  a  good 
woman,  Ena,  of  a  kind.  That  is,  you're  good  in  as  far 
as  you're  not  bad;  and  I  suppose  that  for  a  woman  that's 
a  very  fair  average.  But  I  can  tell  you  that  there  are 
sinners  whom  the  world  has  scourged  to  the  bone  who 
haven't  begun  to  do  what  you've  been  doing  these  past 
eighteen  years — who  wouldn't  have  had  the  nerve  for  it. 
No,  Ena,"  she  continued,  with  another  sweeping  gesture. 
"Ton  my  soul,  I  don't  know  what  you're  made  of.  I 
almost  think  I  admire  you.  I  couldn't  have  done  it; 
I'll  be  hanged  if  I  could.  There  are  women  who've  com- 
mitted murder  and  who  haven't  been  as  cool  as  you. 
They've  committed  murder  in  a  frantic  fit  of  passion  that 
went  as  quick  as  it  came,  and  they've  swung  for  it,  or 
done  time  for  it.  But  they'd  never  have  had  the  pluck 
to  sit  and  smile  and  wait  for  this  minute  as  you've  waited 
for  it — when  you  saw  it  from  such  a  long  way  off." 

It  was  the  crushed  attitude  in  which  his  stepmother 
sank  weeping  into  a  chair  that  broke  the  spell  by  which 
Thor  had  been  held  paralyzed;  but  before  he  could  speak 
Bessie  turned  and  saw  him. 

"Oh,  so  it's  you,  Thor.  Well,  I  wish  you  could  have 
come  a  minute  ago  to  hear  what  I've  been  saying." 

"I've  heard  it,  Mrs.  Willoughby— " 

"Then  I  am  sure  you  must  agree  with  me.    Or  rather, 

108 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

you  would  if  you  knew  how  things  had  been  managed  in 
Paris  eighteen  years  ago.  I've  been  trying  to  tell  your  dear 
stepmother  that  we've  been  mistaken  in  her.  We  haven't 
done  her  justice.  We've  thought  of  her  as  just  a  sweet 
and  gentle  ladylike  person,  when  all  the  while  she's  been 
a  heroine.  She's  been  colossal — as  Clytemnestra  was 
colossal,  and  Lady  Macbeth.  She  beats  them  both;  for 
I  don't  believe  either  of  them  could  have  watched  the 
sword  of  Damocles  taking  eighteen  years  to  fall  on  a  friend 
and  not  have  had  nervous  prostration — while  she's  as 
fresh  as  ever." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "You'll  come  away  now, 
won't  you,  Mrs.  Willoughby?"  he  begged. 

She  adjusted  her  furs  hurriedly.  "All  right,  Thor. 
I'll  come.    I  only  want  to  say  one  thing  more — " 

"No,  no;  please!" 

"I  will  say  it,"  she  insisted,  as  he  led  her  from  the 
room,  "because  it'll  do  Ena  good.  It's  just  this,"  she 
threw  back  over  her  shoulder,  "that  I  forgive  you,  Ena. 
You're  so  magnificent  that  I  can't  nurse  a  grudge  against 
you.  When  a  woman  has  done  what  you've  done  she  may 
be  punished  by  her  own  conscience — but  not  by  me. 
I'm  lost  in  admiration  for  the  scale  on  which  she  carries 
out  her  crimes." 

By  the  time  they  were  in  the  porch,  with  the  door 
closed  behind  them,  Bessie's  excitement  subsided  sud- 
denly. Her  voice  became  plaintive  and  childlike  again, 
as  she  said,  wistfully: 

"Oh,  Thor,  do  you  think  it's  all  gone? — that  we  sha'n't 
get  any  of  it  back?  I  know  we  haven't  spent  it.  We 
can't  have  spent  it." 

Since  Thor  was  Thor,  there  was  only  one  thing  for  him 
to  say.  He  needed  no  time  to  reflect  or  form  resolutions. 
Whatever  the  cost  to  him,  in  whatever  way,  he  could  say 
nothing  else.  "You'll  get  it  all  back,  Mrs.  Willoughby. 
Don't  worry  about  it  any  more.    Just  leave  it  to  me." 

But  Bessie  was  not  convinced.    "  I  don't  see  how  that's 

109 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

going  to  be.  If  your  father  says  the  money  is  gone,  it  is 
gone — whether  we've  spent  it  or  not.  Trust  him!" 
Nevertheless,  she  kissed  him,  saying:  "But  I  don't 
blame  you,  Thor.  If  there  were  two  like  you  in  the 
world  it  would  be  too  good  a  place  to  live  in,  and  Len 
and  Lois  think  the  same." 

He  got  her  into  the  motor  and  closed  the  door  upon  her. 
Standing  on  the  door-step,  he  watched  it  crawl  down  the 
avenue,  like  a  great  black  beetle  on  the  snow.  As  it  passed 
the  gateway  his  father  appeared,  coming  on  foot  from 
the  electric  car. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ON  re-entering  the  house,  Thor  waited  for  his  father 
in  the  hall.  Finding  the  drawing-room  empty,  and 
inferring  that  his  mother  had  gone  up-stairs,  he  decided 
to  say  nothing  of  the  scene  between  her  and  Mrs.  Will- 
oughby.  For  the  time  being  his  own  needs  demanded 
right  of  way.  Nothing  else  could  be  attended  to  till 
they  had  received  consideration. 

With  that  reflection  something  surged  in  him — surged 
and  exulted.  He  was  to  be  allowed  to  speak  of  his  love 
at  last !  He  was  to  be  forced  to  confess  it !  If  he  was  never 
to  name  it  again,  he  would  do  so  this  once,  getting  some 
outlet  for  his  passion!  He  both  glowed  and  trembled. 
He  both  strained  forward  and  recoiled.  Already  he  felt 
drunk  with  a  wine  that  roused  the  holier  emotions  as 
ardently  as  it  fired  the  senses.  He  could  scarcely  take  in 
the  purport  of  his  father's  words  as  the  latter  stamped 
the  snow  from  his  boots  in  the  entry  and  said: 

"  Has  that  poor  woman  been  here?  Sorry  for  her,  Thor; 
sorry  for  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

The  young  man  had  no  response  to  make.  He  was  in 
a  realm  in  which  the  reference  had  no  meaning.  Archie 
continued,  while  hanging  his  overcoat  and  hat  in  the  closet 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs: 

"Impossible  to  make  her  understand.  Women  like 
that  can  never  see  why  they  shouldn't  eat  their  cake 
and  have  it,  too.  Books  open  for  her  inspection.  But 
what's  one  to  do?" 

When  he  emerged  from  the  closet  Thor  saw  that  his 
face  was  gray.     He  looked  mortally  tired  and  sad.     He 

in 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  been  sad  for  some  weeks  past — sad  and  detached — 
ever  since  the  night  when  he  had  made  his  ineffectual 
bid  for  the  care  of  Thor's  prospective  money.  He  had 
betrayed  no  hint  of  resentment  toward  his  son — nothing 
but  this  dignified  lassitude,  this  reserved,  high-bred, 
speechless  expression  of  failure  that  smote  Thor  to  the 
heart.  But  this  evening  he  looked  worn  as  well,  worn 
and  old,  though  brave  and  patient  and  able  to  command 
a  weary,  flickering  smile. 

"But  I'm  glad  it's  come.  It  will  be  a  relief  to  have  it 
over.  Seen  it  coming  so  long  that  it's  been  like  a  nightmare. 
Rather  have  come  to  grief  myself — assure  you  I  would." 

"Father,  could  I  speak  to  you  for  a  few  minutes?" 

"About  this?" 

"No,  not  about  this;  about  something  else — something 
rather  important." 

There  was  a  sudden  gleam  in  the  father's  eyes  which 
gave  Thor  a  second  pang.  He  had  seen  it  once  or  twice 
already  during  these  weeks  of  partial  estrangement. 
It  was  the  gleam  of  hope — of  hope  that  Thor  might  have 
grown  repentant.  It  had  the  sparkle  of  fire  in  it  when, 
seated  in  a  business  attitude  at  the  desk  which  held  the 
center  of  the  library,  he  looked  up  expectantly  at  his  son. 
"Well,  my  boy?" 

Thor  remained  standing.  "It's  about  that  property 
of  Fay's,  father." 

"Oh,  again?"  The  light  in  the  eyes  went  out  with  the 
suddenness  of  an  electric  lamp. 

"I  only  want  to  say  this,  father,"  Thor  hurried  on,  so 
as  to  get  the  interview  over,  "that  if  you  want  to  sell  the 
place,  I'll  take  it.  I'll  take  it  on  your  own  terms.  You 
can  make  them  what  you  like." 

Archie  leaned  on  the  desk,  passing  his  hand  over  his 
brow.     "I'm  sorry,  Thor.    I  can't." 

Thor  had  the  curious  reminiscent  sensation  of  being 
once  more  a  little  boy,  with  some  pleasure  forbidden  him. 
"Oh,  father,  why?    I  want  it  awfully." 

112 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"So  I  see.    I  don't  see  why  you  should,  but — " 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  I  want  to  protect  Fay,  be- 
cause— " 

Masterman  interrupted  without  looking  up.  "And 
that's  just  what  I  don't  want  to  do.  I  want  to  get  rid 
of  the  lot." 

Rid  of  the  lot!  The  expression  was  alarming.  In  his 
father's  mind  the  issue,  then,  was  personal.  It  was  not 
only  personal,  but  it  was  inclusive.  It  included  Rosie. 
She  was  rated  in — the  lot.  Clearly  the  minute  had  come 
at  which  to  speak  plainly. 

"If  you  want  to  get  rid  of  them  on  my  account,  father, 
I  may  as  well  tell  you — " 

"No;  it's  got  nothing  to  do  with  you."  He  was  still 
resting  his  forehead  on  his  hand,  looking  downward  at 
the  blotting-paper  on  his  desk.     "It's  Claude." 

Thor  started  back.  "Claude?  What's  he  got  to  do 
with  it?" 

"I  hadn't  made  up  my  mind  whether  to  tell  you  or  not; 
but—" 

"He  doesn't  even  know  them.  Of  course  he  knows 
who  they  are.     Fay  was  Grandpa  Thorley's — " 

Masterman  continued  to  speak  wearily.  "He  may  not 
know  them  all.  It's  motive  enough  for  my  action  that  he 
knows — the  girl." 

"Oh  no,  he  doesn't." 

"You'd  better  ask  him." 

"I  have  asked  him." 

"Then  you'd  better  ask  him  again." 

"But,  father,  she  couldn't  know  him  without  my  seeing 
it.  I'm  at  the  house  nearly  every  day.  The  mother,  you 
know." 

"Apparently  your  eyes  aren't  sharp  enough.  You 
should  take  a  lesson  from  your  uncle  Sim." 

"But,  father,  I  don't  understand — " 

"Then  I'll  tell  you.  It  seems  that  Claude  has  known 
this  girl  for  the  past  four  or  five  months — " 

113 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Oh  no,  no!  That's  all  wrong.  It  isn't  three  months 
since  I  talked  to  Claude  about  her.  Claude  didn't  even 
remember  they  had  a  girl.     He'd  forgotten  it." 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  Thor.  Don't  con- 
tradict. Seems  your  uncle  Sim  has  had  his  eye  on  them  all 
along." 

Thor  smote  his  side  with  his  clenched  fist.  "There's 
some  mistake,  father.     It  can't  be." 

"I  wish  there  was  a  mistake,  Thor.  But  there  isn't. 
If  I  could  afford  it  I  should  send  Claude  abroad.  Send 
him  round  the  world.  But  I  can't  just  now,  with  this 
mix-up  in  the  business.  There's  no  doubt  but  that  the 
girl  is  bad — " 

"Father!" 

If  Masterman  had  been  looking  up  he  would  have  seen 
the  convulsion  of  pain  on  his  son's  face,  and  got  some 
inkling  of  his  state  of  mind. 

"As  bad  as  they  make  'em — "  he  went  on.  tran- 
quilly. 

"No,  no,  father.     You  mustn't  say  that." 

"I  can't  help  saying  it,  Thor.  I  know  how  you  feel 
about  Claude.  You  feel  as  I  do  myself.  But  you  and  I 
must  take  hold  of  him  and  save  him.  We  must  get  rid 
of  this  girl — " 

"But  she's  not  bad,  father — " 

Masterman  raised  himself  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 
He  saw  that  Thor  was  white,  with  curious  black  streaks 
and  shadows  in  his  long,  gaunt  face.  "Oh,  I  know  how 
you  feel,"  he  said,  again.  "It  does  seem  monstrous  that 
the  thing  should  have  happened  to  Claude;  but,  after  all, 
he's  young,  and  with  a  little  tact  we  can  pull  him  out. 
I've  said  nothing  to  your  mother,  and  don't  mean  to. 
No  use  alarming  her  needlessly.  I've  not  said  anything 
to  Claude,  either.  Only  known  the  thing  for  four  or  five 
days.  Don't  want  to  make  him  restive,  or  drive  him  to 
take  the  bit  between  his  teeth.  High-spirited  young 
fellow,    Claude  is.     Needs   to   be  dealt  with   tactfully. 

114 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Thing  will  be,  to  cut  away  the  ground  beneath  his  feet 
without  his  knowing  it — by  getting  rid  of  the  girl." 

"But  I  know  Rosie  Fay,  father,  and  she's  not — " 

"Now,  my  dear  Thor,  what  is  a  girl  but  bad  when  she's 
willing  to  meet  a  man  clandestinely  night  after  night — ?" 

"Oh,  but  she  hasn't  done  it." 

"And  I  tell  you  she  has  done  it.  Ever  since  last 
summer.     Night  after  night." 

"Where?"  Thor  demanded,  hoarsely. 

"In  the  woods  above  Duck  Rock.  Look  here,"  the 
father  suggested,  struck  with  a  good  idea,  "the  next  time 
Claude  says  he  lias  an  engagement  to  go  out  with  Billy 
Cheever,  why  don't  you  follow  him — ?" 

There  was  both  outrage  and  authority  in  Thor's  abrupt 
cry,  "Father!" 

■  "Oh,  I  know  how  you  feel.  You'd  rather  trust  him. 
Well,  I  would  myself.  It's  the  plan  I'm  going  on.  We 
mustn't  be  too  hard  on  him,  must  we?  Sympathetic 
steering  is  what  he  wants.  Fortunately  we're  both  men 
of  the  world  and  can  accept  the  situation  with  no  Puri- 
tanical hypocrisies.  He's  not  the  first  young  fellow  who's 
got  into  the  clutches  of  a  hussy — " 

It  was  to  keep  himself  from  striking  his  father  down  that 
Thor  got  out  of  the  room.  For  an  instant  he  had  seen 
red;  and  across  the  red  the  word  parricide  flashed  in  letters 
of  fire.     It  might  have  been  a  vision.     It  was  frightening. 

Outside  it  was  a  night  of  dim,  spirit-like  radiance.  The 
white  of  the  earth  and  the  violet  of  the  sky  were  both 
spangled  with  lights.  Low  on  the  horizon  the  full  moon 
was  a  glorious  golden  disk. 

The  air  was  sweet  and  cold.  As  he  struck  down  the 
avenue,  of  which  the  snow  was  broken  only  by  his  own 
and  his  father's  footsteps  and  the  wheels  of  Bessie's  car, 
he  bared  his  head  to  cool  his  forehead  and  the  hot  masses  of 
his  hair.  He  breathed  hard;  he  was  aching;  his  distress 
was  like  that  of  being  roused  from  a  weird,  appalling 
dream.     He  had  not  yet  got  control  of  his  faculties.     He 

ii5 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

scarcely  knew  why  he  had  come  out,  except  that  he 
couldn't  stay  within. 

On  nearing  the  street  the  buzzing  of  an  electric  car  re- 
minded him  that  Claude  was  probably  coming  home. 
Instinctively  he  turned  his  steps  away  from  meeting  him, 
tramping  up  the  long,  white,  empty  stretch  of  County 
Street. 

At  Willoughby's  Lane  he  turned  up  the  hill,  not  for 
any  particular  purpose,  but  because  the  tramping  there 
would  be  a  little  harder.  He  needed  exertion.  It  eased 
the  dull  ache  of  confused  inward  pain.  In  the  Willoughby 
house  there  was  no  light  except  in  the  hall  and  in  Bessie's 
bedroom.  Mother  and  daughter  had  doubtless  taken 
refuge  in  the  latter  spot  to  discuss  the  disastrous  turn  of 
their  fortunes.  Ah,  well!  There  would  probably  be 
nothing  to  keep  him  from  going  to  their  rescue  now. 

Probably!  He  clung  to  the  faint  chance  offered  by  the 
word.  He  didn't  know  the  real  circumstances — yet. 
Probably  his  father  had  been  accurate  in  his  statements, 
even  though  wrong  in  what  he  had  inferred.  Probably 
Claude  and  Rosie  had  met — night  after  night — secretly 
— in  the  woods — in  the  dark.  Probably!  He  stopped 
dead  in  his  walk;  he  threw  back  his  head  and  groaned  to 
the  violet  sky;  he  pulled  with  both  hands  at  his  collar 
as  though  choking.  Secretly — in  the  woods — in  the  dark ! 
It  was  awful — and  yet  it  was  entrancing.  If  Rosie  had 
only  come  to  meet  htm  like  that! — in  that  mystery! — in 
that  seclusion ! — with  that  trust ! — with  that  surrender  of 
herself! 

"How  can  I  blame  Claude?" 

It  was  his  first  formulated  thought.  He  tramped  on 
again.  How  could  he  blame  Claude?  Poor  Claude!  He 
had  his  difficulties.  No  one  knew  that  better  than  Thor. 
And  if  Rosie  loved  the  boy  .  .  . 

Below  the  ridge  of  the  long,  wooded  hill  there  was  a 
road  running  parallel  to  County  Street.     He  turned  into 

116 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

that.  But  he  began  to  perceive  to  what  goal  he  was 
tending.  He  had  taken  this  direction  aimlessly;  and  yet 
it  was  as  if  his  feet  had  acted  of  their  own  accord,  without 
the  guiding  impulse  of  the  mind.  From  a  long,  straight 
stem  a  banner  of  smoke  floated  heavy  and  luminous 
against  the  softer  luminosity  of  the  sky.  He  knew  now 
where  he  was  going  and  what  he  had  to  do. 

But  he  paused  at  the  gate,  when  he  got  there,  uncertain 
as  to  where  at  this  hour  he  should  find  her.  There  was  a 
faint  light  in  the  mother's  room,  but  none  elsewhere  in  the 
house.  The  moon  was  by  this  time  high  enough  to  throw 
a  band  of  radiance  across  Thorley's  Pond  and  strike  pale 
gleams  from  the  glass  of  the  hothouse  roofs. 

It  required  some  gazing  to  detect  in  Rosie's  greenhouse 
the  blurred  glow  of  a  lamp.  He  remembered  that  there 
was  a  desk  near  this  spot  at  which  she  sometimes  wrote. 
She  was  writing  there  now — perhaps  to  Claude. 

But  she  was  not  writing  to  Claude;  she  was  making 
out  bills.  As  bookkeeper  to  the  establishment,  as  well  as 
utility  woman  in  general,  it  was  the  one  hour  in  the  day 
when  she  had  leisure  for  the  task.  She  raised  her  head 
to  peer  down  the  long,  dim  aisle  of  flowers  on  hearing  him 
open  the  door. 

"It's  I,  Rosie,"  he  called  to  her,  as  he  passed  between 
banks  of  carnations.     "Don't  be  afraid." 

She  was  not  afraid,  but  she  was  excited.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "He's  found  out."  It 
was  what  she  had  been  expecting.  She  had  long  ago 
begun  to  see  that  his  almost  daily  visits  were  not  on  her 
mother's  account.  He  had  been  coming  less  as  a  doctor 
than  as  a  detective.  Very  well !  If  his  detecting  had  been 
successful,  so  much  the  better.  Since  the  battle  had  to  be 
fought  some  time,  it  couldn't  begin  too  soon. 

She  remained  seated,  her  right  hand  holding  the  pen, 
her  left  lying  on  the  open  pages  of  the  ledger.  He  spoke 
before  he  had  fully  emerged  into  the  glow  of  the  lamp. 

"Oh,  Rosie!    What's  this  about  you  and  Claude?" 

117 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

Her  little  face  grew  hard  and  defiant.  She  was  not  to 
be  deceived  by  this  wounded,  unhappy  tone.  "Well — 
what?"  she  asked,  guardedly,  looking  up  at  him. 

He  stooped.  His  face  was  curiously  convulsed.  It 
frightened  her.     "Do  you  love  him?" 

Instinctively  she  took  an  attitude  of  defense,  rising  and 
pushing  back  her  chair,  to  shield  herself  behind  it.  "And 
what  if  I  do?" 

"Then,  Rosie,  you  should  have  told  me." 

Again  the  heartbroken  cry  seemed  to  her  a  bit  of 
trickery  to  get  her  confidence.  "Told  you?  How  could 
I  tell  you?    What  should  I  tell  you  for?" 

"How  long  have  you  loved  him?" 

Her  face  was  set.  The  shifting  opal  lights  in  her  eyes 
were  the  fires  of  her  will.  She  would  speak.  She  would 
hide  nothing.  Let  the  responsibility  be  on  Claude.  Her 
avowal  was  like  that  of  a  calamity  or  a  crime,  "I've  loved 
him  ever  since  I  knew  him." 

"And  how  long  is  that?" 

"It  will  be  five  months  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Tell  me,  Rosie.     How  did  it  come  about?" 

She  was  still  defiant.  She  put  it  briefly.  "I  was  in 
the  wood  above  Duck  Rock.  He  came  by.  He  spoke 
to  me." 

"And  you  loved  him  from  the  first?" 

She  nodded,  with  the  desperate  little  air  he  had  long 
ago  learned  to  recognize. 

"Oh,  Rosie,  tell  me  this.     Do  you  love  him — much?" 

She  was  quite  ready  with  her  answer.  It  was  as  well 
the  Mastermans  should  know.     "I'd  die  for  him." 

"Would  you,  Rosie?     And  what  about  him?" 

Her  lip  quivered.  "  Oh,  men  are  not  so  ready  to  die  for 
love  as  women  are." 

He  leaned  toward  her,  supporting  himself  with  his 
hands  on  the  desk.  "And  you  are  ready,  Rosie!  You 
really — would?" 

She  thought  he  looked  wild.     He  terrified  her.     She 

118 


I    DON  T    WANT    TO    I'ART    YOU.       I    WANT    TO    BRING    YOU    TOGETHER 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

shrank  back  into  the  dimness  of  a  mass  of  foliage.  "Oh, 
what  do  you  mean?  What  are  you  asking  me  for?  Why 
do  you  come  here?    Go  away." 

"I'll  go  presently,  Rosie.  You  won't  be  sorry  I've 
come.  I  only  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  it.  There  are 
reasons  why  I  want  to  know." 

"Then  why  don't  you  ask  him?"  she  demanded,  pas- 
sionately.    "He's  your  brother." 

"Because  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  story  first." 

There  was  such  tenderness  in  his  voice  that  she  grew 
reassured  in  spite  of  her  alarm.  "What  do  you  want  me 
to  say?" 

"  I  want  you  to  say  first  of  all  that  you  know  I'm  your 
friend." 

"You  can't  be  my  friend,"  she  said,  suspiciously,  "un- 
less you're  Claude's  friend,  too;  and  Claude  wouldn't  own 
to  a  friend  who  tried  to  part  us." 

"I  don't  want  to  part  you,  Rosie.  I  want  to  bring 
you  together." 

The  assertion  was  too  much  for  credence.  She  was 
thrown  back  on  the  hypothesis  of  trickery.     "You?" 

"Yes,  Rosie.  Has  Claude  never  told  you  that  he's 
more  to  me  than  any  one  in  the  world,  except — "  He 
paused;  he  panted;  he  tried  to  keep  it  back,  but  it  forced 
itself  out  in  spite  of  his  efforts — "except  you."  Once 
having  said  it,  he  repeated  it:  "Except  you,  Rosie;  ex- 
cept— you." 

Though  he  was  still  leaning  toward  her  across  the  desk, 
his  head  sank.  There  was  silence  between  them.  It  was 
long  before  Rosie,  the  light  in  her  eyes  concentrated  to 
two  brilliant,  penetrating  points,  crept  forward  from  the 
sheltering  mass  of  foliage.  She  could  hardly  speak  above 
a  whisper. 

"Except— who?" 

He  lifted  his  head.  She  noticed  subconsciously  that  his 
face  was  no  longer  wild,  but  haggard.  He  spoke  gently: 
"Except  you,  Rosie.     You're  most  to  me  in  the  world." 

119 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

As  she  bent  toward  him  her  mouth  and  eyes  betrayed 
her  horror  at  the  irony  of  this  discovery.  She  would 
rather  never  have  known  it  than  know  it  now.  It  was 
all  she  could  do  to  gasp  the  one  word,  "Me?" 

"I  shouldn't  have  told  you,"  he  hurried  on,  apologet- 
ically, "but  I  couldn't  help  it.  Besides,  I  want  you  to 
understand  how  utterly  I'm  your  friend.  I  ask  nothing 
more  than  to  be  allowed  to  help  you  and  Claude  in  every 
way — " 

She  cried  out.  The  thing  was  preposterous.  "You're 
going  to  do  that — now?" 

"I'm  your  big  brother,  Rosie — the  big  brother  to  both 
of  you.  That's  what  I  shall  be  in  future.  And  what  I've 
said  will  be  a  dead  secret  between  us,  won't  it  ?  I  shouldn't 
have  told  you,  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  stronger  than 
me,  Rosie.  Those  things  sometimes  are.  But  it's  a 
secret  now,  dead  and  buried.  It's  as  if  it  hadn't  been 
said,  isn't  it?     And  if  I  should  marry  some  one  else — " 

This  was  too  much.  It  was  like  the  world  slipping 
from  her  at  the  minute  she  had  it  within  her  grasp.  The 
horror  was  not  only  in  her  eyes  and  mouth,  but  in  her 
voice.     "Are  you  going  to  marry  some  one  else?" 

"I  might  have  to,  Rosie — for  a  lot  of  reasons.  It 
might  be  my  duty.  And  now  that  I  can't  marry 
you—" 

She  uttered  a  sort  of  wail.     "Oh!" 

"  Don't  be  sorry  for  me,  Rosie  dear.  I  can't  stand  it. 
I  can  stand  it  better  if  you're  not  sorry — " 

"But  I  am,"  she  cried,  desperately. 

"Then  I  must  thank  you — only  don't  be.  It  will  make 
me  grieve  the  more  for  saying  what  I  never  should  have 
said.  But  that's  a  secret  between  us,  as  I  said  before, 
isn't  it?  And  if  I  do  marry — she'll  never  find  it  out,  will 
she?    That  wouldn't  do,  would  it,  Rosie?" 

His  words  struck  her  as  passing  all  the  bounds  of  prac- 
tical common  sense.  They  were  so  mad  that  she  felt  her- 
self compelled  to  ask  for  more  assurance.     "Are  you — in 

120 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

love — with — with  me?"  If  the  last  syllable  had  been 
louder  it  would  have  been  a  scream. 

"Oh,  Rosie,  forgive  me!  I  shouldn't  have  told  you. 
It  was  weak.  It  was  wrong.  I  only  did  it  to  show  you 
how  you  could  trust  me.  But  I  should  have  showed  you 
that  some  other  way.  You'd  already  told  me  how  it  was 
between  you  and  Claude,  and  so  it  was  treachery  to  him. 
But  I  never  dreamed  of  trying  to  come  between  you. 
Believe  me,  I  didn't.     I  swear  to  you  I  only  want — " 

She  broke  in,  panting.  She  wouldn't  have  spoken 
crudely  or  abruptly  if  there  had  been  any  other  way. 
But  the  chance  was  there.  In  another  minute  it  might  be 
too  late.     "Yes;  but  when  I  said  that  about  Claude — " 

She  didn't  know  how  to  go  on.  He  encouraged  her. 
"Yes,  Rosie?" 

She  wrung  her  hands.  "Oh,  don't  you  see?  When  I 
said  that  about  Claude — I  didn't — I  didn't  know — " 

He  hastened  to  relieve  her  distress.  "You  didn't  know 
I  cared  for  you?" 

"No!"  The  word  came  out  with  another  long 
wail. 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "But  what's  that  got  to 
do  with  it?" 

Her  eyes  implored  him  piteously,  while  she  beat  the 
palm  of  one  hand  against  the  back  of  the  other.  It  was 
terrible  that  he  couldn't  see  what  she  meant — and  the 
moments  slipping  away ! 

"It  wouldn't  have  made  you  love  Claude  any  the  less, 
would  it?" 

She  had  to  say  something.  If  she  didn't  he  would 
never  understand.     "  Not  love,  perhaps ;  but — " 

The  sudden  coldness  in  his  voice  terrified  her  again — 
but  differently.     "But  what,  Rosie?" 

She  cried  out,  as  if  the  words  rent  her.  "But  Claude 
has  no — money." 

"And  I  have.     Is  that  it?" 

It  was  no  use  to  deny  it.     She  nodded  dumbly.     Be- 

9  J2I 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

sides,  she  counted  on  his  possession  of  common  sense, 
though  his  use  of  it  was  slow. 

He  raised  himself  from  his  attitude  of  leaning  on  the 
desk.  It  was  his  turn  to  take  shelter  amid  the  dark 
foliage  behind  him.  He  couldn't  bear  to  let  the  lamp- 
light fall  too  fully  on  his  face.  "Is  it  this,  Rosie,"  he 
asked,  with  an  air  of  bewilderment,  "that  you'd  marry  me 
because  I  have — the  money?" 

It  seemed  to  Rosie  that  the  question  gave  her  reasonable 
cause  for  exasperation.  She  was  almost  sobbing  as  she 
said:  "Well,  I  can't  marry  Claude  without  money.  He 
can't  marry  me."  A  ray  was  thrown  into  her  little  soul 
when  she  gasped  in  addition,  "And  there's  father  and 
mother  and  Matt!" 

Thor's  expression  lost  some  of  its  bewilderment  because 
it  deepened  to  sternness.  "But  Claude  means  to  marry 
you,  doesn't  he?" 

She  cried  out  again,  with  that  strange  effect  of  the  words 
rending  her.     "I  don't — know." 

He  had  a  moment  of  wild  fear  lest  his  father  had  been 
right,  after  all.  "You  don't  know?  Then — what's  your 
relation  to  each  other?" 

"I  don't  know  that,  either.  Claude  won't  tell  me." 
She  crossed  her  hands  on  her  bosom  as  she  said,  desper- 
ately, "I  sometimes  think  he  doesn't  mean  anything  at 
all." 

The  terror  of  the  instant  passed.  "Oh  yes,  he  does, 
Rosie.     I'll  see  to  that." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you'll  make  him  marry  me?" 

He  smiled  pitifully.  "There'll  be  no  making,  Rosie. 
You  leave  it  to  me." 

He  turned  from  her  not  merely  because  the  last  word 
had  been  spoken,  but  through  fear  lest  something  might 
be  breaking  within  himself.  On  regaining  the  white  road- 
way he  thought  he  saw  Jasper  Fay  in  the  shadow  of  the 
house,  but  he  was  too  deeply  stricken  to  speak  to  him. 
He  went  up  the  hill  and  farther  from  the  village.     It  was 

122 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

not  yet  eight  o'clock,  but  time  had  ceased  to  have  measure- 
ment. He  went  up  the  hill  to  be  alone  in  that  solitude 
which  was  all  that  for  the  moment  he  could  endure. 
He  climbed  higher  than  the  houses  and  the  snow-covered 
gardens;  his  back  was  toward  the  moon  and  the  glow 
above  the  city.  The  prospect  of  reaching  the  summit 
gave  something  for  his  strong  body  to  strain  forward  to. 
The  ridge,  when  he  got  to  it,  was  treeless,  wind-swept, 
and  moon-swept.  It  was  a  great  white  altar,  victimless 
and  bare.  He  felt  devastated,  weak.  It  was  a  relief, 
bodily  and  mental,  to  sink  to  his  knees — to  fall — to  lie  at 
his  length.  He  pressed  his  hot  face  into  the  cool,  consoling 
whiteness,  as  a  man  might  let  himself  weep  on  a  pillow. 
His  arms  were  outstretched  beyond  his  head.  His 
fingers  pierced  beneath  the  snow  till  they  touched  the 
tender,  nestling  mosses.  All  round  him  there  was  silveri- 
ness  and  silence,  and  overhead  the  moon. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DESCENDING  the  hill,  Thor  saw  a  light  in  his  uncle 
Sim's  stable,  and  knew  that  Delia  was  being  settled 
for  the  night.  Uncle  Sim  still  lived  in  the  ramshackle 
house  to  which  his  father — old  Dr.  Masterman,  as  elderly- 
people  in  the  village  called  him — had  taken  his  young 
wife,  who  had  been  Miss  Lucy  Dawes.  In  this  house  both 
Sim  and  Archie  Masterman  were  born.  It  was  the 
plainest  of  dwellings,  painted  by  wind  and  weather  to  a 
dovelike  silver-gray.  Here  lived  Uncle  Sim,  cared  for  in 
the  domestic  sense  by  a  lady  somewhat  older  and  more 
eccentric  than  himself,  known  to  the  younger  Mastermans 
as  Cousin  Amy  Dawes. 

Thor  avoided  the  house  and  Cousin  Amy  Dawes,  going 
directly  to  the  stable.  By  the  time  he  had  reached  the 
door  Uncle  Sim  was  shutting  it.  In  the  light  of  a  lantern 
standing  in  the  snow  the  naked  elms  round  about  loomed 
weirdly.     The  greetings  were  brief. 

"Hello,  Uncle  Sim!" 

"Hello,  Thor!" 

Thor  made  an  effort  to  reduce  the  emotional  tremor  of 
his  voice  to  the  required  minimum.  "Father's  been  tell- 
ing me  about  Claude  and  Rosie  Fay." 

Uncle  Sim  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  with  a  loud 
grating.  "Father  had  to  do  it,  did  he?  Thought  you 
might  have  caught  on  to  that  by  yourself.  One  of  the 
reasons  I  sent  you  into  the  Fay  family." 

"Did  you  know  it  then? — already?" 

"  Didn't  know  it.  Couldn't  help  putting  two  and  two 
together." 

124 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"You  see  everything,  Uncle  Sim." 

Uncle  Sim  stooped  to  pick  up  the  lantern.  "See  every- 
thing that's  under  my  nose.     Thought  you  could,  too." 

"This  hasn't  been  under  my  nose." 

"Oh,  well!  There  are  noses  and  noses.  A  donkey  has 
one  kind  and  a  dog  has  another." 

Thor  was  not  a  finished  actor,  but  he  was  doing  his 
best  to  play  a  part.     "Well,  what  do  you  think  now?" 

' '  What  do  I  think  now  ?  I  don't  think  anything — about 
other  people's  business." 

"I  think  we  ought  to  do  something,"  Thor  declared, 
with  energy. 

"All  right.  Every  one  to  his  mind.  Only  it's  great 
fun  to  let  other  people  settle  their  own  affairs." 

"Settle  their  own  affairs — and  suffer." 

"Yes,  and  suffer.     Suffering  doesn't  hurt  any  one." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  Uncle  Sim,  that  I  should  sit  still 
and  do  nothing  while  the  people  I  care  for  most  in  the 
world  are  in  all  sorts  of  trouble  that  I  could  get  them 
out  of?" 

"That  little  baggage,  Rosie  Fay,  isn't  one  of  the  people 
you  care  for  most  in  the  world,  I  presume?" 

Thor  knew  that  with  Uncle  Sim's  perspicacity  this 
might  be  a  leading  question,  but  he  made  the  answer  he 
considered  the  most  diplomatic  in  the  circumstances. 
"She  is  if— if  Claude  is  in  love  with  her.  But — but  why 
do  you  call  her  that,  Uncle  Sim?" 

"Because  she's  a  little  witch.  Most  determined  little 
piece  I  know.  Hard  working;  lots  of  pluck;  industrious 
as  the  devil.     Whole  soul  set  on  attaining  her  ends." 

Thor  considered  it  prudent  to  return  to  the  point  from 
which  he  had  been  diverted.     "Well,  if  the  people  I  care 
for  most  are  in  trouble  that  I  can  get  them  out  of — " 
"Oh,  if  you  can  get  them  out  of  it — " 
"Well,  I  can." 

"Then  that's  all  right.  Only  the  case  must  be  rather 
rare.     Haven't  often  seen  the  attempt  made  except  with 

125 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

one  result — not  that  of  getting  people  out  of  trouble,  but 
of  getting  oneself  in.  But  every  one  to  his  taste,  Thor. 
Wouldn't  stop  you  for  the  world.  Only  advise  you  not  to 
be  in  a  hurry." 

"There's  no  question  of  being  in  a  hurry  when  things 
have  to  be  done  now.1' 

"All  right,  Thor.  You  know  better  than  I.  I'm  one 
of  those  slowpokes  who  look  on  the  fancy  for  taking  a  hand 
in  other  people's  affairs  as  I  do  on  the  taste  for  committing 
suicide — there's  always  time.  If  you  don't  do  it  to-day, 
you  can  to-morrow — which  is  a  reason  for  putting  it  off, 
ain't  it?" 

There  was  more  than  impatience  in  Thor's  protest  as 
he  cried,  "But  how  can  you  put  it  off  when  there's  some 
one — some  one  who's — who's  unhappy?" 

"I  see.  Comes  back  to  that.  But  I  don't  mind  some 
one's  being  unhappy.  Don't  care  a  tuppenny  damn. 
Do  'em  good.  I've  seen  more  people  unhappy  than  I 
could  tell  you  about  in  a  year;  and  nine  out  of  ten  were 
made  men  and  women  by  it  who  before  that  had  been 
only  rags." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  accept  that  cheerful  doctrine,  Uncle 
Sim—" 

"All  right,  Thor.  Don't  want  you  to.  Wouldn't  in- 
terfere with  you  any  more  than  with  any  one  else.  Free 
country.  Got  your  own  row  to  hoe.  If  you  make 
yourself  miserable  in  the  process,  why,  it  '11  do  you  as 
much  good  as  it  does  all  the  rest.  Nothing  like  it. 
Wouldn't  save  you  from  it  for  anything.  But  there's  a 
verse  of  an  old  song  that  you  might  turn  over  in  your 
mind — old  song  written  about  two  or  three  thousand 
years  ago:   'Oh,  tarry  thou  the  Lord's  leisure — " 

Thor  tossed  his  head  impatiently.     "Oh,  pshaw!" 

"But  it  goes  on:  'And  be  strong.'  You  can  be  awful 
strong  when  you're  tarrying  the  Lord's  leisure,  Thor,  be- 
cause then  you  know  you're  not  making  any  damn-fool 
mistakes." 

126 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Thor  spoke  up  proudly:  "I'd  rather  make  mistakes — 
than  do  nothing." 

"That's  all  right,  Thor;  splendid  spirit.  Don't  dis- 
approve of  it  a  mite.  Go  ahead.  Make  mistakes.  It  '11 
be  live  and  learn.  Not  the  least  afraid.  I've  often  no- 
ticed that  when  young  fellows  of  your  sort  prefer  their 
own  haste  to  the  Lord's  leisure  there's  a  Lord's  haste  that 
hurries  on  before  'em,  so  as  to  be  all  ready  to  meet  'em 
when  they  come  a  cropper  in  the  ditch." 

Thor  turned  away  sharply.  "I  guess  I'll  beat  it,  Uncle 
Sim." 

The  old  man,  swinging  his  lantern,  shambled  along  by 
his  nephew's  side,  as  the  latter  made  for  the  road  again. 
"Oh,  I  ain't  trying  to  hold  you  back,  Thor.  Now,  am  I? 
On  the  contrary,  I  say,  go  ahead.  Rush  in  where  angels 
fear  to  tread;  and  if  you  don't  do  anything  else  you'll 
carry  the  angels  along  with  you.  You  may  make  an 
awful  fool  of  yourself,  Thor — but  you'll  be  on  the  side 
of  the  angels  and  the  angels  '11  be  on  yours." 

Though  dinner  was  over  by  the  time  Thor  reached 
home,  his  stepmother  sat  with  him  while  he  ate  it.  It 
was  a  new  departure  for  her.  Thor  could  not  remember 
that  she  had  ever  done  anything  of  the  sort  before.  She 
sat  with  him  and  served  him,  asking  no  questions  as  to 
why  he  was  late.  She  seemed  to  divine  a  trouble  on  his 
part  beyond  her  power  to  console,  and  for  which  the  only 
sympathy  she  dared  to  express  was  that  of  small  kindly 
acts.     He  understood  this  and  was  grateful. 

He  found  her  society  soothing.  This,  too,  surprised 
him.  He  felt  so  battered  and  sore  that  the  mere  presence 
of  one  who  approached  him  from  an  affectionate  impulse 
had  the  effect  on  him  of  a  gentle  hand.  Never  before  in 
his  life  had  he  been  conscious  of  woman's  genius  for  com- 
forting, possibly  because  never  before  in  his  life  had  he 
needed  comfort  to  the  same  degree. 

No  reference  was  made  by  his  stepmother  or  himself 

127 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

to  the  scene  with  Mrs.  Willoughby  in  the  afternoon,  but  it 
was  not  hard  for  him  to  perceive  that  in  some  strange  way 
it  was  stirring  the  victim  of  it  to  newness  of  life.  It  was 
not  that  she  admitted  the  application  of  Bessie's  charges 
to  herself;  they  only  startled  her  to  the  knowledge  that 
there  were  heights  and  depths  in  human  existence  such  as 
her  imagination  had  never  plumbed.  Her  nature  was 
making  a  feeble  effort  to  expand,  as  the  petals  of  a  bud 
that  has  been  kept  hard  and  compact  by  a  backward 
spring  may  unfold  to  the  heat  of  summer. 

When  he  had  finished  his  hasty  meal,  Thor  rose  and 
kissed  her,  saying,  "Thank  you,  mumphy,"  using  the  pet 
name  that  had  not  been  on  his  lips  since  childhood.  She 
drew  his  face  downward  with  a  sudden  sob,  a  sob  quite 
inexplicable  except  on  the  ground  that  her  poor,  withered, 
strangled  little  soul  was  at  last  trying  to  live. 

Having  gone  up-stairs  to  his  room,  Thor  shut  the  door 
and  bolted  it  in  his  desire  for  solitude.  He  changed  his 
coat  and  kicked  off  his  boots.  When  he  had  lighted  a 
pipe  he  threw  himself  on  the  old  sofa  which  had  done  duty 
as  couch  at  the  foot  of  his  bed  ever  since  he  was  a  boy. 
It  was  the  attitude  in  which  he  had  always  been  best 
able  to  "think  things  out." 

Now  that  he  had  eaten  a  sufficient  dinner,  he  felt 
physically  less  bruised,  though  mentally  there  was  more 
to  torture  him.  He  regretted  having  seen  Uncle  Sim. 
He  hated  the  alternative  of  letting  things  alone.  There 
was  a  sense  in  which  action  would  have  been  an  anodyne 
to  suffering,  and  had  it  not  been  for  Uncle  Sim  he  would 
have  had  no  scruple  in  making  use  of  it. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  talk  of  letting  people  settle  their 
own  affairs;  but  how  could  they  settle  them,  in  these  par- 
ticular cases,  without  his  intervention?  As  far  as  power 
went  he  was  like  a  fairy  prince  who  had  only  to  wave  a 
wand  to  see  the  whole  scene  transfigured.  If  he  hadn't 
asked  Uncle  Sim's  advice  he  would  be  already  waving  it, 

128 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

instead  of  lolling  on  his  back,  with  his  right  foot  poised 
over  his  left  knee  and  dangling  a  heelless  slipper  in  the  air. 
He  felt  shame  at  the  very  attitude  of  idleness. 

True,  there  were  the  two  distinct  lines  of  action — that 
of  making  a  number  of  people  happy  now,  and  that  of  hold- 
ing back  that  they  might  fight  their  own  battles.  By 
fighting  their  own  battles  they  might  emerge  from  the ' 
conflict  the  stronger — after  forty  or  fifty  years!  Those 
who  were  unlikely  to  live  so  long — Len  and  Bessie  Will- 
oughby,  for  example — would  probably  go  down  rebelling 
and  protesting  to  their  graves.  But  Claude  and  Rosie 
and  Lois  might  all  grow  morally  the  stronger.  There  was 
that  possibility.  It  was  plain.  Claude  and  Rosie  might 
marry  on  the  former's  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year, 
have  children,  and  bring  them  up  in  poverty  as  model 
citizens;  but  whatever  the  high  triumph  of  their  middle 
age,  Thor  shrank  from  the  thought  of  the  interval  for  both. 
And  Lois,  too,  might  live  down  grief,  disappointment, 
small  means,  and  loneliness ;  might  become  hardened  and 
toughened  and  beaten  to  endurance,  and  grow  to  be  the 
best  and  bravest  and  kindest  old  maid  in  the  world.  Uncle 
Sim  would  probably  consider  that  in  these  noble  achieve- 
ments the  game  would  be  worth  the  candle;  but  he, 
Thor  Masterman,  didn't.  The  more  he  developed  the 
possibilities  of  this  future  for  every  one  concerned,  himself 
included,  the  more  he  loathed  it. 

It  was  past  eleven  before  he  reached  the  point  of  loath- 
ing at  which  he  was  convinced  that  action  should  begin; 
but  once  he  reached  it,  he  bounded  to  his  feet.  He 
felt  wonderfully  free  and  vigorous.  If  certain  details 
could  be  settled  there  and  then — he  couldn't  wait  till  the 
morrow — he  thought  that,  in  spite  of  everything,  he  should 
sleep. 

He  had  heard  Claude  go  to  his  room,  which  was  on  the 
same  floor  as  his  own,  an  hour  earlier.  Claude  was  prob- 
ably by  this  time  in  bed  and  asleep,  but  the  elder  brother 
couldn't  hesitate  for  that.     Within  less  than  a  minute  he 

129 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  crossed  the  passage,  entered  Claude's  bedroom,  and 
turned  on  the  electric  light. 

Claude's  profile  sunk  into  the  middle  of  the  pillow 
might  have  been  carved  in  ivory.  His  dark  wavy  hair 
fell  back  picturesquely  from  temple  and  brow.  Under 
the  coverings  his  slim  form  made  a  light,  graceful  line. 

The  room  was  at  once  dainty  and  severe.  A  striped 
paper,  brightened  by  a  design  of  garlands,  knots,  and 
flowers  d,  la  Marie  Antoinette,  made  a  background  for 
white  furniture  in  the  style  of  Louis  XVI.,  modern  and 
inexpensive,  but  carefully  selected  by  Mrs.  Masterman. 
The  walls  were  further  lightened  by  colored  reprints  of  old 
French  scenes,  discreetly  amorous,  collected  by  Claude 
himself. 

Thor  stood  for  some  seconds  in  front  of  the  bed  before 
the  brother  opened  his  eyes.  More  seconds  passed  while 
the  younger  gazed  up  at  the  elder.  "What  the  dev — !" 
Claude  began,  sleepily. 

But  Thor  broke  in,  promptly,  "Claude,  why  didn't  you 
ever  tell  me  you  knew  Rosie  Fay?" 

Claude  closed  his  eyes  again.  The  expected  had  hap- 
pened. Like  Rosie,  he  resolved  to  meet  the  moment 
cautiously,  creating  no  more  opposition  than  he  could 
help.     "Why  should  I?"  he  parried,  without  hostility. 

"Because  I  asked  you,  for  one  thing." 

He  opened  his  eyes.     "When  did  you  ever  ask  me?" 

"At  the  bank;  one  day  when  I  found  you  there.  It 
must  have  been  two  months  ago." 

Claude  stirred  slightly  under  the  bedclothes.  "Oh, 
then." 

"Yes,  then.    Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"  I  didn't  see  how  I  could.  What  good  would  it  have 
done,  anyhow?" 

It  was  on  Thor's  tongue  to  say,  "It  would  have  done 
the  good  of  not  telling  lies,"  but  he  suppressed  that.  One 
of  his  objects  was  to  be  conciliating.  He  had  other 
objects,  which  he  believed  would  be  best  served  by  taking 

130 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

a  small  chair  and  sitting  on  it  astride,  close  to  Claude's 
bed.  An  easy,  fraternal  air  was  maintained  by  the  effect 
of  the  pipe  still  hanging  by  its  curved  stem  from  the 
corner  of  his  mouth.  He  began  to  think  highly  of  himself 
as  a  comedian. 

"I  wish  you  had  told  me,"  he  said,  quietly,  "because  I 
could  have  helped  you." 

Claude  lay  still.  His  eyes  grew  brilliant.  "Helped 
me — how?" 

"  Helped  you  in  whatever  it  is  you're  trying  to  do."  He 
added,  with  significance,  "You  are  trying  to  do  some- 
thing, aren't  you?" 

Claude  endeavored  to  gain  time  by  saying,  "Trying 
to  do  what?" 

"You're—"  Thor  hesitated,  but  dashed  in.  "You're 
in  love  with  her?" 

It  was  still  to  gain  time  that  Claude  replied,  "What  do 
you  think?" 

Thor's  heart  bounded  with  a  great  hope.  Perhaps 
Claude  was  not  in  love  with  her.  He  had  not  been 
noticeably  moved  as  yet.  In  that  case  it  might  be 
possible — barely  possible — that  after  Rosie  had  outlived 
her  disappointment  there  might  be  a  chance  that  he  .  .  . 
But  he  dared  not  speculate.  Mustering  everything  that 
was  histrionic  within  him,  he  said,  with  the  art  that  con- 
ceals art,  "I  think  you  are — decidedly." 

Claude  rolled  partly  over  in  bed.     "That's  about  it.' 

The  confession  was  as  full  as  one  brother  could  expect 
from  another.  Thor's  heart  sank  again.  He  managed, 
however,  to  keep  on  the  high  plane  of  art  as  he  brought 
out  the  words,  "And  what  about  her?" 

Again  Claude's  avowal  was  as  ardent  as  the  actual 
conditions  called  for.     "Oh,  I  guess  she's  all  right." 

"So — what  now?" 

Claude  rolled  back  toward  his  brother,  raising  his  head 
slightly  from  the  pillow.     "Well — what  now?" 

"You're  going  to  be  married,  I  suppose?" 

131 


>> 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Claude  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow.  "Married  on 
fifteen  hundred  a  year?"  He  went  on,  before  Thor  could 
say  anything,  "If  there  was  nothing  else  to  consider!" 

Thor  felt  stirrings  of  hope  again.  "Then,  if  you're  not 
going  to  be  married,  what  do  you  mean?" 

' '  What  do  I  mean  ?    What  can  I  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  come,  Claude!  You're  not  a  boy  any  longer. 
You  know  perfectly  well  that  a  man  of  honor — with  your 
traditions — can't  trifle  with  a  girl  like  that — or  break  her 
heart — or — or  ruin  her." 

"I'm  not  doing  any  of  the  three.  She  knows  I'm  not. 
She  knows  I'm  only  in  the  same  box  she's  in  herself." 

"That  is,  you're  both  in  love,  without  seeing  how  you're 
going  to — " 

Claude  lurched  forward  in  the  bed.  " Look  here,  Thor; 
if  you  want  to  know,  it's  this.  I've  tried  to  leave  the  girl 
alone — and  I  can't.  I'm  worse  than  a  damn  fool;  I'm 
every  sort  of  a  hound.  I  can't  marry  her,  and  I  can't  give 
her  up.  When  I  haven't  seen  her  for  a  week,  I'm  frantic; 
and  when  I  do  see  her  I  swear  to  God  I'll  never  see  her 
again.     So  now  you  know." 

Claude  threw  himself  back  again  on  the  pillows,  but 
Thor  went  on,  quietly:  "Why  do  you  swear  to  God  you'll 
never  see  her  again?" 

"Because  I'm  killing  her.  That  is,  I  should  be  killing 
her  if  she  wasn't  the  bravest  little  brick  on  earth.  You 
don't  know  her,  Thor.  You've  seen  her,  and  you  know 
she's  pretty;  but  you  don't  know  that  she's  as  plucky 
as  they  make  'em — pluckier." 

Thor  answered,  wearily,  "I've  rather  guessed  that, 
which  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  feel  you  should  be  true 
to  her." 

"I  am  true  to  her — truer  than  I  ought  to  be.  If  I  was 
less  true  it  would  be  better  for  us  both.  She'd  get  over 
it—" 

Again  Thor  was  aware  of  an  up-leaping  hope.  "And 
you,  too?" 

132 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so — in  time." 

"Yes,  but  you'd  suffer." 

Claude  gave  another  lurch  forward  in  the  bed.  "I 
couldn't  suffer  worse  than  I'm  suffering  now,  knowing 
I'm  an  infernal  cad — and  not  seeing  how  to  be  anything 
else." 

"But  you  wouldn't  be  an  infernal  cad  if  you  married 
her." 

The  young  man  flung  himself  about  the  bed  impatiently. 
"Oh,  what's  the  use  of  talking?" 

"  If  she  had  money  you  could  marry  her  all  right." 

"Ah,  go  to  the  devil,  Thor!"  The  tone  was  one  of 
utter  exasperation. 

Thor  persisted.  "If  she  had,  let  us  say,  four  or  five 
thousand  dollars  a  year  of  her  own — " 

Claude  stretched  his  person  half-way  out  of  bed. 
"I  said— go  to  the  devil!" 

"Well,  she  has." 

"Has  what?" 

"Four  or  five  thousand  dollars  a  year  of  her  own. 
That  is,  she  will  have  it,  if  you  and  she  get  married." 

"Say,  Thor,  have  you  got  the  jimjams?" 

"I'm  speaking  quite  seriously,  Claude.  I've  always 
intended  to  do  something  to  help  you  out  when  I  got  hold 
of  Grandpa  Thorley's  money;  and,  if  you  like,  I'll  do  it 
that  way." 

"Do  it  what  way?" 

"The  way  I  say.  If  you  and  Rosie  get  married,  she 
shall  have  five  thousand  a  year  of  her  own." 

"From  you?" 

Thor  nodded. 

The  younger  brother  looked  at  the  elder  curiously.  It 
was  a  long  minute  before  he  spoke.  "If  it's  to  help  me 
out,  why  don't  I  have  it?  I'm  your  brother.  I  should 
think  I'd  be  the  one." 

"Because  I'd  rather  do  it  that  way.  It  would  be  a 
means  of  evening  things  up.     It  would  make  her  more 

i33 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

like  your  equal.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  father 
and  mother  will  kick  like  blazes;  but  if  Rosie  has 
money — " 

"If  Rosie  has  money  they'll  know  she  gets  it  from  some- 
where. They  won't  think  it  comes  down  to  her  out  of 
heaven." 

"They  can  think  what  they  like.  They  needn't  know 
that  I  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  They  know  you 
haven't  got  five  thousand  a  year,  and  if  she  has — why, 
there'll  be  the  solid  cash  to  convince  them.  The  whole 
thing  will  be  a  pill  for  them;   but  if  it's  gilded — " 

Claude's  knees  were  drawn  up  in  the  bed,  his  hands 
clasped  about  them.  Thor  noticed  the  strangeness  of  his 
expression,  but  he  was  unprepared  for  his  words  when 
they  came  out.  "Say,  Thor,  you're  not  in  love  with  her 
yourself,  are  you?" 

Owing  to  what  he  believed  to  be  the  perfection  of  his 
acting,  it  was  the  question  Thor  had  least  expected  to  be 
called  on  to  answer.  He  knew  he  was  turning  white  or 
green,  and  that  his  smile  when  he  forced  it  was  nothing 
but  a  ghastly  movement  of  the  mouth.  It  was  his  turn 
to  gain  time,  but  he  could  think  of  nothing  more  forcible 
than,  "What  makes  you  ask  me  that?" 

"Because  it  looks  so  funny — so  damned  funny." 

"There's  nothing  funny  in  my  trying  to  give  a  lift  to 
my  own  brother,  is  there?" 

"N-no;  perhaps  not.  But,  see  here,  Thor — "  He 
leaned  forward.     "You're  not  in  love  with  her,  are  you?" 

Thor  knew  the  supreme  moment  of  his  life  had  come, 
that  he  should  never  reach  another  like  it.  It  was  within 
his  power  to  seize  the  cup  and  drain  it — or  thrust  it  aside. 
Of  all  temptations  he  had  ever  had  to  meet  none  had  been 
so  strong  as  this.  It  was  the  stronger  for  his  knowing  that 
if  it  was  conquered  now  it  would  probably  never  return. 
He  would  have  put  himself  beyond  reach  of  its  returning. 
That  in  itself  appalled  him.  There  was  some  joy  in 
feeling  the  temptation  there,  as  a  thing  to  be  dallied  with. 

i34 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

He  dallied  with  it  now.     He  dallied  with  it  to  the  extent 
of  saying,  with  a  smile  he  tried  to  temper  to  playfulness: 

"Well,  what  if  I  was  in  love  with  her?" 

Something  about  Claude  leaped  into  flame.  "Then 
I  wouldn't  touch  a  cent  of  your  money.  I  wouldn't  let 
her  touch  it.  I  wouldn't  let  her  look  at  it.  I'd  marry 
her  on  my  own — I'll  be  hanged  if  I  wouldn't.  I'd  marry 
her  to-morrow.  I'd  get  out  of  bed  and  marry  her  to-night. 
I'd—" 

Thor  forced  his  smile  to  a  tenderer  playfulness,  sitting 
calmly  astride  of  his  chair,  his  left  arm  along  the  back,  his 
right  hand  holding  his  pipe  by  the  bowl.  "So  you 
wouldn't  let  me  have  her?" 

Claude  lashed  across  the  bed.  "I'd  see  you  hanged 
first.  I'd  see  you  damned.  I'd  see  you  damned  to  hell. 
She's  mine,  I  tell  you.  I'm  not  going  to  give  her  up  to 
any  one — and  to  you  least  of  all.  Do  you  get  that? 
Now  you  know." 

"All  right,  Claude.     Now  I  know." 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  know."  Claude  wriggled  to  the  side 
of  the  bed,  drawing  as  near  to  his  brother  as  he  could 
without  getting  out.  "I  don't  know.  I've  asked  you  a 
question,  and  you  haven't  answered  it.  And,  by  God! 
you've  got  to  answer  it.  Sooner  than  let  any  one  else 
get  her,  I'll  marry  her  and  starve.     Now  speak." 

Thor  got  up  heavily.  He  had  the  feeling  with  which 
the  ancients  submitted  when  they  stood  soberly  and 
affirmed  that  it  was  useless  to  struggle  against  Fate. 
Fate  was  upon  him.  He  saw  it  now.  He  had  tried  to 
elude  her,  but  she  had  got  him  where  he  couldn't  move. 
She  asserted  herself  again  when  Claude,  hanging  half  out 
of  bed,  his  mouth  feverish,  his  eyes  burning,  insisted, 
imperiously,  "Say,  you — speak!" 

Thor  spoke.  He  spoke  from  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
his  pipe  still  in  his  hand.  He  spoke  without  premedita- 
tion, as  though  but  uttering  the  words  that  Destiny  had 
put  into  his  mouth  from  all  eternity. 

i3S 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"It's  all  right,  Claude.  Calm  down.  I'm — I'm  going 
to  be  married  to  Lois  Willoughby." 

But  Claude  was  not  yet  convinced.     "When?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  we  can  fix  things  up  after  the  tenth  of 
next  month — after  I  get  the  money." 

"How  long  has  that  been  settled?"  Claude  demanded, 
with  lingering  suspicion. 

"It's  been  settled  for  years,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned. 
I  can  hardly  remember  the  time  when  I  didn't  intend — 
just  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

Claude  let  himself  drop  back  again  among  the  pil- 
lows. 

"So  now  it's  all  right,  isn't  it?"  Thor  continued, 
making  a  move  toward  the  door.  "It'll  be  Lois  and 
I — and  you  and  Rosie.  And  the  money  will  go  to  Rosie. 
I  insist  on  that.  It  '11  even  things  up.  Five  thousand  a 
year.     Perhaps  more.     We'll  see." 

He  looked  back  from  the  door,  but  Claude,  after  his 
excitement,  was  lying  white  and  silent,  his  eyes  closed, 
his  profile  upturned.  Thor  was  swept  by  compunction. 
It  had  always  been  part  of  the  family  tradition  to  respect 
Claude's  high-strung  nerves.  Nothing  did  him  more 
harm  than  to  be  thwarted  or  stirred  up.  With  a  murmured 
good-night  Thor  turned  out  the  light,  opening  and  closing 
the  door  softly. 

But  in  the  passage  he  heard  the  pad  of  bare  feet  behind 
him.     Claude  stood  there  in  his  pajamas. 

"Say,  Thor,"  he  whispered,  hoarsely,  "you're  top-hole 
— 'pon  my  soul  you  are."  He  caught  his  brother's  hand, 
pulling  it  rather  than  shaking  it,  like  a  boy  tugging 
at  a  bell-rope.  "You're  a  top-hole  brother,  Thor,"  he 
repeated,  nervously,  "and  I'm  a  beast.  I  know  you 
don't  care  anything  about  Rosie.  Of  course  you  don't. 
But  I've  got  the  jumps.  I've  been  through  such  a  lot 
during  the  months  I've  been  meeting  her  that  I'm  on 
springs.     But  with  you  to  back  me  up — " 

"I'll  back  you  up  all  right,  Claude.     Just  wade  in  and 

136 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

get  married — and  I  guess  our  team  will  hold  its  own  against 
all  comers.     Lois  will  be  with  us.     She's  fond  of  Rosie — " 

With  another  tug  at  his  brother's  arm,  and  more  in- 
articulate thanks,  Claude  darted  back  to  his  room  again. 

Thor  closed  his  own  door  and  locked  it  behind  him. 
He  was  too  far  spent  for  more  emotion.  He  had  hardly 
the  energy  to  throw  off  his  clothes  and  turn  out  the  light. 
Within  five  minutes  of  his  final  assurance  to  Claude  he  was 
sleeping  profoundly. 

10 


CHAPTER  XV 

HAVING  slept  soundly  till  after  eight  in  the  morning, 
Thor  woke  with  an  odd  sense  of  pleasure.  On 
regaining  his  faculties  he  was  able  to  analyze  it  as  the 
pleasure  he  had  experienced  in  having  Claude  tugging  at 
his  arm.  It  meant  that  Claude  was  happy,  and,  Claude 
being  happy,  Rosie  would  be  happy.  Claude  and  Rosie 
were  taken  care  of. 

Consequently  Lois  would  be  taken  care  of.  Thor 
turned  the  idiom  over  with  a  vast  content.  It  was  the  tune 
to  which  he  bathed  and  dressed.  They  would  all  three  be 
taken  care  of.  Those  who  were  taken  care  of  were  as 
folded  sheep.  His  mind  could  be  at  rest  concerning  them. 
It  was  something  to  have  the  mind  at  rest  even  at  the  cost 
of  heartache. 

There  was,  of  course,  one  intention  that  before  all 
others  must  be  carried  out.  He  would  have  to  clinch 
the  statement  he  had  made,  for  the  sake  of  appeasing 
and  convincing  Claude,  concerning  Lois  Willoughby.  It 
was  something  to  be  signed  and  sealed  before  Claude 
could  see  her  or  betray  the  daring  assertion  to  his  parents. 
Fortunately,  the  younger  brother's  duties  at  the  bank 
would  deprive  him  of  any  such  opportunity  earlier  than 
nightfall,  so  that  Thor  himself  was  free  for  the  regular 
tasks  of  the  day.  He  kept,  therefore,  his  office  hours 
during  the  forenoon,  and  visited  his  few  patients  after  a 
hasty  luncheon.  There  was  one  patient  whom  he  omitted 
— whom  he  would  leave  henceforth  to  Dr.  Hilary. 

It  was  but  little  after  four  when  he  arrived  at  the  house 
at  the  corner  of  Willoughby's  Lane  and  County  Street. 

138 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Mrs.  Willoughby  met  him  in  the  hall,  across  which  she 
happened  to  be  bustling.  She  wore  an  apron,  and  struck 
him  as  curiously  business-like.  As  he  had  never  before 
seen  her  share  in  household  tasks,  her  present  aspect 
seemed  to  denote  a  change  of  heart. 

"Oh,  come  in,  Thor,"  she  said,  briskly.  "I'm  glad 
you've  come.  Go  up  and  see  poor  Len.  He's  so  de- 
pressed.    You'll  cheer  him." 

If  there  was  a  forced  note  in  her  bravery  he  did  not 
perceive  it.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you're  not  depressed,"  he 
observed  as  he  took  off  his  overcoat. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.     "I'm  going  to  die  game." 

"Which  means—" 

"That  there's  fight  in  me  yet." 

1 '  Fight  ? "     His  brows  went  up  anxiously. 

"Oh,  not  with  your  father.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of 
that.  Besides,  I  see  well  enough  it  would  be  no  use.  If 
he  says  we've  spent  our  money,  he's  got  everything  fixed 
to  make  it  look  so,  whether  we've  spent  it  or  not.  No, 
I'm  not  going  to  spare  him  because  he's  your  father. 
I'm  going  to  say  what  I  think,  and  if  you  don't  like  it 
you  can  lump  it.  I  sha'n't  go  to  law.  I'd  get  the  worst 
of  it  if  I  did.   But  neither  shall  I  be  bottled  up.  So  there!" 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  you  say  to  me — "  Thor  began, 
with  significant  stress  on  the  ultimate  word. 

"It  may  not  matter  what  I  say  to  you,  but  I  can  tell 
you  it  will  matter  what  I  say  to  other  people." 

Thor  took  no  notice  of  that.  "And  if  you're  not  going 
to  law,  would  it  be  indiscreet  to  ask  what  you  are  going  to 
do?" 

Bessie  forced  the  note  of  bravery  again,  with  a  flash  in 
her  little  eyes.  "I'm  going  to  live  on  my  income;  that's 
what  I'm  going  to  do.  Thank  the  Lord  I've  some  money 
left.  I  didn't  let  Archie  Masterman  get  his  hands  on  all 
of  it — not  me.  I've  got  some  money  left,  and  we've  got 
this  house.  I'm  going  to  let  it.  I'm  going  to  let  it  to- 
morrow if  I  get  the  chance.     I'm  getting  it  ready  now. 

139 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

And  then  we're  going  abroad.  Oh,  I  know  lots  of  places 
where  we  can  live — petits  trous  pas  chers;  dear  little 
places,  too — where  Len  '11  have  a  chance  to — to  get 
better." 

Thor  made  a  big  resolution.  "If  you're  going  to  let 
the  house,  why  not  let  it  to  me?" 

She  knew  what  was  coming,  but  it  made  her  feel  faint. 
Backing  to  one  of  the  Regency  chairs,  she  sank  into  it. 
It  was  in  mere  pretense  that  she  said,  "What  do  you  want 
it  for?" 

"I  want  it  because  I  want  to  marry  Lois."  He  added, 
with  an  anxiety  that  sprang  of  his  declaration  to  Claude, 
"  Do  you  think  she'll  take  me?" 

Bessie  spoke  with  conviction.  "She'll  take  you  unless 
she's  more  of  a  fool  than  I  think.  Of  course  she'll  take 
you.  Any  woman  in  her  senses  would  jump  at  you.  I 
know  I  would."  She  dashed  away  a  tear.  "But  look 
here,  Thor,"  she  hurried  on,  "if  you  marry  Lois  you  won't 
have  the  whole  family  on  your  back,  you  know.  You 
won't  be  marrying  Len  and  me.  I  tell  you  right  now 
because  you're  the  sort  that  '11  think  he  ought  to  do  it. 
Well,  you  won't  have  to.  I  mean  what  I  say  when  I  tell 
you  we're  going  to  live  on  our  income — what's  left  of  it. 
We  can,  and  we  will,  and  we're  going  to." 

"Couldn't  we  talk  about  all  that  when — ?" 

"When  you're  married  to  Lois  and  have  more  of  a  right 
to  speak?  No.  We'll  talk  about  it  now — and  never  any 
more.  Len  and  I  are  going  to  have  plenty — plenty. 
If  you  think  I  can't  manage — well,  you'll  see." 

"Oh,  I  know  you've  got  lots  of  pluck,"  Mrs.  Will- 
oughby — " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  With  her  hands  thrust  jauntily 
into  the  pockets  of  her  apron,  she  looked  like  some  poor 
little  soubrette,  grown  middle-aged,  stout,  and  rather 
grotesque,  in  a  Marivaux  play.  She  acted  her  part  well. 
"Pluck?  Oh,  I've  got  more  than  that.  I've  got  some 
ability.    If  you  never  knew  it  before,  you'll  see  it  now. 

140 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

I've  spent  a  lot;  but  then  I've  had  a  lot — or  thought  I 
had;  and  now  that  I'm  going  to  have  little — well,  I'll  show 
you  I  can  cut  my  coat  according  to  my  cloth  as  well  as  the 
next  one." 

"I  don't  doubt  that  in  the  least,  and  yet — " 

"And  yet  you  want  us  to  have  all  our  money  back. 
Oh,  I  know  what  you  meant  yesterday  afternoon.  I 
didn't  see  it  at  the  time — I  had  so  many  things  to  think 
of;  but  I  caught  on  to  it  as  soon  as  I  got  home.  We 
should  get  it  back,  because  you'd  give  it  to  us.  Well, 
you  won't.  You  can  marry  Lois,  if  she'll  marry  you — 
and  I  hope  to  the  Lord  she  won't  be  such  a  goose  as  to 
refuse  you! — and  you  can  take  the  house  off  our  hands; 
but  more  than  that  you  won't  be  able  to  do,  not  if  you 
were  Thor  Masterman  ten  times  over." 

He  smiled.  "  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  that.  Once  is  bad 
enough." 

Her  little  eyes  shone  tearily.  "All  the  same,  I  like 
you  for  it.  I  do  believe  that  if  you  hadn't  said  it  I  should 
have  gone  to  law.  I  certainly  meant  to;  but  when  I 
saw  how  nice  you  were — "  Dashing  away  another  tear, 
she  changed  her  tone  suddenly.  "Tell  me.  What  did 
your  mother  say  after  I  left  yesterday?" 

Thor  informed  her  that  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
she  hadn't  said  anything. 

Bessie  chuckled.  "I  didn't  leave  her  much  to  say,  did 
I?  Well,  I'm  glad  to  have  had  the  opportunity  of  talking 
it  out  with  her." 

"You  certainly  talked  it  out — if  that's  the  word." 

"Yes,  didn't  I?    And  now,  I  suppose,  she's  mad." 

Thor  was  unable  to  affirm  as  much  as  this.  In  fact, 
the  conversation,  since  Mrs.  Willoughby  liked  to  apply 
that  term  to  the  encounter,  had  induced  in  his  step- 
mother, as  far  as  he  could  see,  a  somewhat  superior  frame 
of  mind. 

"Well,  I  hope  it  '11  do  her  as  much  good  as  it  did  me," 
Bessie  sighed,  devoutly;  "and  now  that  I've  let  off  steam 

141 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

I'll  go  'round  and  make  it  up.  Now  go  and  see  Len. 
He'll  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Thor  intimated  that  he  would  be  glad  of  a  minute  with 
Lois,  to  which  Mrs.  Willoughby  replied  that  Lois  was 
having  one  of  her  fits  of  bird-craze.  She  was  in  the  kitchen 
at  that  minute  getting  suet  with  which  to  go  up  into  the 
woods  and  feed  the  chickadees.  Good  Lord!  there  had 
been  chickadees  since  the  world  began,  and  they  had  lived 
through  the  winter  somehow.  Bessie  had  no  patience 
with  what  she  called  "nature-fads,"  but  it  was  as  easy 
to  talk  sense  into  a  chickadee  itself  as  to  keep  Lois  from 
going  into  the  woods  with  two  or  three  pounds  of  suet 
after  every  snow-storm.  She  undertook,  however,  to  de- 
lay her  daughter's  departure  on  this  errand  till  warning 
had  been  given  to  Thor. 

Up-stairs  Thor  found  Len  sitting  in  his  big  arm-chair, 
clad  in  a  gorgeous  dressing-gown.  He  was  idle,  stupefied, 
and  woebegone.  With  his  bushy,  snow-white  hair  and 
beard,  his  puffy  cheeks,  his  sagging  mouth,  and  his 
clumsy  bulk  he  produced  an  effect  half  spectral  and  half 
fleshly,  but  quite  pathetically  ludicrous.  His  hand 
trembled  violently  as  he  held  it  toward  his  visitor. 

"Not  well  to-day,  Thor,"  he  complained.  "Ought  to 
be  back  in  bed.  Any  other  man  wouldn't  have  got  up. 
Always  had  too  much  energy.  Awful  blow,  Thor,  awful 
blow.  Never  could  have  believed  it  of  your  father.  But 
I'm  not  downed  yet.  Go  to  work  and  make  another 
fortune.     That's  what  I'll  do." 

Thor  sympathized  with  his  friend's  intentions,  and, 
having  slipped  down-stairs  again,  found  Lois  in  the  hall, 
a  basket  containing  a  varied  assortment  of  bird-foods  on 
her  arm. 

When  she  had  given  him  permission  to  accompany  her, 
they  took  their  way  up  Willoughby's  Lane,  whence  it  was 
possible  to  pass  into  the  woodland  stretches  of  the  hillside. 
The  day  was  clear  and  cold,  with  just  enough  wind  to 
wake  the  asolian  harp  of  the  forest  into  sound.     Once  in 

142 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

the  woods,  they  advanced  warily.  "Listen  to  the  red- 
polls," Lois  whispered. 

She  paused,  leaning  forward,  her  face  alight.  There 
was  nothing  visible;  but  a  low,  continuous  warble,  inter- 
spersed with  a  sort  of  liquid  rattle,  struck  the  ear.  Taking 
a  bunch  of  millet  stalks  from  her  basket,  she  directed  Thor 
while  he  tied  them  to  the  bough  of  a  birch  that  trailed  its 
lower  branches  to  the  snow.  When  they  had  gone  forward 
they  perceived,  on  looking  around,  that  some  dozen  or 
twenty  of  the  crimson-headed  birds  had  found  their  food. 

So  they  went  on,  scattering  seeds  or  crumbs  in  sheltered 
spots,  and  fixing  masses  of  suet  in  conspicuous  places,  to 
an  approving  chirrup  of  dee-dee,  chick-a-dee-dee-dee,  from 
friendly  little  throats.  The  basket  was  almost  emptied 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  wood  and 
neared  the  top  of  the  hill. 

Lois  was  fastening  the  last  bunch  of  millet  stalks  to  a 
branch  hanging  just  above  her  head.  Thor  stood  behind 
her,  holding  the  basket,  and  noticing,  as  he  had  often 
noticed  before,  the  slim  shapeliness  of  her  hands.  In  spite 
of  the  cold,  they  were  bare,  the  fur  of  the  cuffs  falling 
back  sufficiently  to  display  the  exquisitely  formed  wrists. 

"Lois,  when  can  we  be  married?" 

She  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard  him,  unless  it  was 
that  her  hands  stopped  for  an  instant  in  the  deft  rapidity 
of  their  task.  Within  a  few  seconds  they  had  resumed 
their  work,  though,  it  seemed  to  him,  with  less  sureness 
in  the  supple  movement  of  the  fingers.  Beyond  the  up- 
turned collar  of  her  coat  he  saw  the  stealing  of  a  warm, 
slow  flush. 

He  was  moved,  he  hardly  knew  how.  He  hardly 
knew  how,  except  that  it  was  with  an  emotion  different 
from  that  which  Rosie  Fay  had  always  roused  in  him. 
In  that  case  the  impulse  was  primarily  physical.  He 
couldn't  have  said  what  it  was  primarily  in  this.  It  was 
perhaps  mental,  or  spiritual,  or  only  sympathetic.  But 
it  was  an  emotion.     He  was  sure  of  that,  though  he  was 

i43 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

less  sure  that  it  had  the  nature  of  love.  As  for  love,  since 
yesterday  the  word  sickened  him.  Its  association  had 
become,  for  the  present,  at  any  rate,  both  sacred  and 
appalling.  He  couldn't  have  used  it,  even  if  he  had  been 
more  positive  concerning  the  blends  that  made  up  his 
present  sentiment. 

It  was  to  postpone  as  long  as  possible  the  moment 
for  turning  around  that  Lois  worked  unnecessarily  at  the 
fastening  of  her  millet  stalks.  They  were  not  yet  secured 
to  her  satisfaction  when,  urged  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he 
bent  forward  and  kissed  her  wrist.  She  allowed  him  to 
do  this  without  protest,  while  she  knotted  the  ends  of  her 
string;  but  she  was  obliged  to  turn  at  last. 

"I  didn't  know  you  wanted  to  be  married,"  she  said, 
with  shy  frankness. 

He  responded  as  simply  as  she.  "But  now  that  you 
do  know  it — how  soon  can  it  be?" 

"Why  are  you  asking  me?"  Before  he  had  time  to 
reply  she  went  on,  "Is  it  because  papa  has  got  into 
trouble?" 

He  was  ready  with  his  answer.  "It's  because  he's  got 
into  trouble  that  I'm  asking  you  to-day;  but  I've  been 
meaning  to  ask  you  for  years  and  years." 

She  uttered  something  like  a  little  cry.  "Oh,  Thor, 
is  that  true?" 

The  fact  that  he  must  make  so  many  reservations  im- 
pelled him  to  be  the  more  ardent  in  what  he  could  affirm 
without  putting  a  strain  on  his  conscience.  "I  can  swear 
it  to  you,  Lois,  if  you  want  me  to.  It  began  as  long  ago 
as  when  I  was  a  youngster  and  you  were  a  little  girl." 

She  clasped  her  hands  tightly.     "Oh,  Thor !' ' 

"  Since  that  time  there  hasn't  been  a — "  He  was  going 
to  say  a  day,  but  he  made  a  rapid  correction — "there 
hasn't  been  a  year  when  I  haven't  looked  forward  to  your 
being  my  wife."  He  allowed  a  few  seconds  to  pass  before 
adding,  "  I  should  think  you'd  have  seen  it." 

She  answered  as  well  as  a  joyous  distress  would  let  her. 

144 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

*'I  did  see  it,  Thor — or  thought  I  did — for  a  while.  Only 
latterly—" 

"You  mustn't  judge  by — latterly,"  he  broke  in,  hastily. 
"Latterly  I've  had  a  good  deal  to  go  through." 

"Oh,  you  poor  Thor!    Tell  me  about  it." 

Nothing  would  have  eased  his  heart  more  effectively 
than  to  have  poured  out  to  her  the  whole  flood  of  his  con- 
fidence. It  was  what  he  was  accustomed  to  doing  when 
in  her  company.  He  could  talk  to  her  with  more  open 
heart  than  he  had  ever  been  able  to  talk  to  any  one. 
It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  tell  her  the  whole  story  of 
Rosie  Fay;  and  if  he  refrained  from  taking  this  course, 
it  was  only  because  he  reminded  himself  that  it  wouldn't 
"do."  It  obviously  wouldn't  "do."  He  was  unable  to 
say  why  it  wouldn't  "do"  except  on  the  general  ground 
that  there  were  things  a  man  had  better  keep  to  himself. 
He  curbed,  therefore,  his  impulse  toward  frankness  to  say  : 

"I  can't — because  there  are  things  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  talk  about.  If  I  could  speak  of  them  to  any  one  it 
would  be  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously.  "  It's  nothing  that  I  have 
to  do  with,  is  it?" 

"Only  in  as  far  as  you  have  to  do  with  everything  that 
concerns  me." 

Tears  in  her  eyes  could  not  keep  her  face  from  growing 
radiant.     "Oh,  Thor,  how  can  I  believe  it?" 

"  It's  true,  Lois.  I  can  hardly  go  back  to  the  time  when, 
in  my  own  mind,  it  hasn't  been  true." 

"But  I'm  not  worthy  of  it,"  she  said,  half  tearfully. 

"I  hope  it  isn't  a  question  of  worthiness  on  the  one  side 
or  the  other.  It's  just  a  matter  of — of  our  belonging  to- 
gether." 

It  was  not  in  doubt,  but  with  imploring  looks  of  happi- 
ness, that  she  said,  "Oh,  are  you  sure  we  do?" 

He  was  glad  she  could  accept  his  formula.  It  not  only 
simplified  matters,  but  enabled  him  to  be  sincere.  The 
fact  that  in  his  own  way  he  was  quite  sincere  rendered 

H5 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

him  the  more  grateful  to  her  for  not  forcing  him,  or  trying 
to  force  him,  to  express  himself  insincerely.  It  was  almost 
as  if  she  divined  his  state  of  mind. 

"Words  aren't  of  much  use  between  ms,"  he  declared, 
in  his  appreciation  of  this  attitude  on  her  part.  "We're 
more  or  less  independent  of  them,  don't  you  think?" 

She  nodded  her  approval  of  this  sentiment  as  her 
eyes  followed  the  action  of  her  fingers  in  buttoning  her 
gloves. 

"But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  feel  as  exactly  as  I  can  put  it," 
he  went  on.  "It's  that  you're  essential  to  me,  and  I'm 
essential  to  you.  At  least,"  he  subjoined,  humbly,  "I 
hope  I'm  essential  to  you." 

She  nodded  again,  her  face  averted,  her  eyes  still  fol- 
lowing the  movements  of  her  fingers  at  her  wrist. 

"I  can't  express  it  in  language  very  different  from  that," 
he  stammered,  "because — well,  because  I'm  not — not  very 
happy;  and  the  chief  thing  I  feel  about  you  is  that  you're 
a  kind  of — of  shelter." 

He  had  found  the  word  that  explained  his  state  of  mind. 
It  was  as  a  shelter  that  he  was  seeking  her.  If  there  were 
points  of  view  from  which  his  object  was  to  protect  her, 
there  were  others  from  which  he  needed  protection  for 
himself.  In  desiring  her  as  his  wife  he  was,  as  it  were, 
fleeing  to  a  refuge.  He  did  desire  her  as  his  wife,  even 
though  but  yesterday  he  had  more  violently  desired 
Rosie  Fay.  The  violence  was  perhaps  the  secret  of  his 
reaction — not  that  it  was  reaction  so  much  as  the  turning 
of  his  footsteps  toward  home.  He  was  homing  to  her. 
He  was  homing  to  her  by  an  instinct  beyond  his  skill  to 
analyze,  though  he  knew  it  to  be  as  straight  and  sure 
as  that  of  the  pigeon  to  the  cote. 

There  was  a  silence  following  his  use  of  the  word  shelter 
— a  silence  in  which  she  seemed  to  envelop  him  with  her 
deep,  luminous  regard.  The  still,  remote  beauty  of  the 
winter  woods,  the  notes  of  friendly  birds,  the  sweet,  wild 
music  of  the  wind  in  the  treetops,  accompanied  that  look, 

146 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

as  mystery  and  incense  and  organ  harmonies  go  with 
benedictions. 

"Oh,  Thor,  you're  wonderful!"  was  all  she  could  say, 
when  words  came  to  her.  "You  make  me  feel  as  if  I 
could  be  of  some  use  in  the  world.  What's  more  wonder- 
ful still,  you  make  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been  of  use  all  these 
years  when  I've  felt  so  useless." 

It  was  in  the  stress  of  the  sensation  of  having  wandered 
into  far,  exotic  regions  in  which  his  feet  could  only  stray 
that  he  said,  simply,  "You're  home  to  me." 

She  was  so  near  to  bursting  into  tears  that  she  turned 
from  him  sharply  and  walked  up  the  hill.  He  followed 
slowly,  swinging  the  empty  basket.  Her  buoyant  step 
on  the  snow,  over  which  the  frost  had  drawn  the  thinnest 
of  shining  crusts,  gave  a  nymphlike  smoothness  to  her 
motion. 

Having  reached  the  treeless  ridge,  she  emerged  on  that 
high  altar  on  which,  not  twenty-four  hours  earlier,  he  had 
sunk  face  downward  in  the  snow.  The  snow  had  drifted 
again  over  his  footprints  and  the  mark  of  his  form.  It 
was  drifting  still,  in  little  powdery  whirls,  across  a  surface 
that  caught  tints  of  crimson  and  glints  of  fire  from  an 
angry  sunset.  It  was  windy  here.  As  she  stood  above 
him,  facing  the  north,  her  figure  poised  against  a  glowering 
sky,  her  garments  blew  backward.  Even  when  he  reached 
her  and  was  standing  by  her  side,  she  continued  to  gaze 
outward  across  the  undulating,  snow-covered  country, 
in  the  folds  of  which  an  occasional  farm-house  lamp  shone 
like  a  pale  twilight  star. 

"You  see,  it's  this  way,"  he  pursued,  as  though  there 
had  been  no  interruption.  "When  I'm  with  you  I  seem 
to  get  back  to  my  natural  conditions — the  conditions  in 
which  I  can  live  and  work.  That's  what  I  mean  by  your 
being  home  to  me.  Other  places" — he  ventured  this 
much  of  the  confession  he  had  at  heart — "other  places 
have  their  temptations;  but  it's  only  at  home  that  one 
lives." 

i47 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

He  took  courage  to  go  on  from  the  way  in  which  her 
gloved  hand  stole  into  his.  "I  dare  say  you  think  I  talk 
too  much  about  work ;  but,  after  all,  we  can't  forget  that 
we  live  in  a  country  in  the  making,  can  we?  In  a  way, 
it's  a  world  in  the  making.  There's  everything  to  do — 
and  I  want  to  be  doing  some  of  it,  Lois,"  he  declared,  with 
a  little  outburst.  "I  can't  help  it.  I  know  some  people 
think  I'm  an  enthusiast,  and  others  put  me  down  as  a 
prig — but  I  can't  help  it." 

"I  know  you  can't,  Thor,  and  I  can't  tell  you  how  much 
I — I" — she  felt  for  the  right  word — "I  admire  it." 

He  turned  to  her  eagerly.  "You're  the  only  one,  Lois, 
who  knows  what  I  mean — who  can  speak  my  language. 
You  want  to  be  useful,  too." 

"And  I  never  have  been." 

"Nor  I.  I've  known  that  things  were  to  be  done; 
but  I  haven't  known  how  to  set  about  them,  or  where  to 
begin.  Don't  you  think  we  may  be  able  to  find  the  way 
together?" 

She  seemed  suddenly  to  cling  to  him.  "Oh,  Thor,  if 
you'd  only  make  me  half  as  good  as  you  are!" 

Perhaps  the  ardor  with  which  he  seized  her  was  the 
unspent  force  of  the  longing  roused  in  him  by  Rosie. 
Perhaps  it  blazed  up  in  him  merely  because  she  was  a 
woman.  For  two  or  three  days  now  his  need  of  the  femi- 
nine had  been  acute.  Did  she  minister  to  that?  or  did 
she  bring  him  something  that  could  be  offered  by  but 
one  woman  in  the  world?  He  couldn't  tell.  He  only 
knew  that  he  had  her  in  his  arms,  with  his  lips  on  hers, 
and  that  he  was  content.  He  was  content,  with  a  sense 
of  fulfilment  and  appeasement.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been 
straining  for  a  great  prize  and  won  the  second — but  at  a 
moment  when  he  had  expected  none  at  all.  There  was 
happiness  in  it,  even  if  it  was  a  quieter,  staider  happiness 
than  that  of  which  he  now  knew  himself  to  be  capable. 

"You're  home  to  me,  Lois,"  he  murmured  as  he  held 
her.     ' '  You're  home  to  me. ' ' 

148 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

He  meant  that  though  there  were  strange,  entrancing 
Edens  on  which  he  had  not  been  allowed  to  enter,  there 
was,  nevertheless,  a  vast  peace  of  mind  to  be  found  at  the 
restful,  friendly  fireside. 

"And  you're  the  whole  wide  world  to  me,  Thor,"  she 
whispered,  clasping  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  drawing 
his  face  nearer. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ON  leaving  Lois  and  returning  homeward,  Thor  met 
his  brother  at  the  entrance  to  the  avenue.  They 
had  not  spoken  since  the  preceding  night.  On  purpose  to 
avoid  a  meeting,  Claude  had  breakfasted  early  and  escaped 
to  town  before  Thor  had  come  down-stairs.  In  the 
glimpse  Thor  had  caught  of  his  younger  brother  as  the 
latter  left  the  house  he  saw  that  he  looked  white  and 
worried. 

He  looked  white  and  worried  still  under  the  glare  of 
street  electricity.  As  they  walked  up  the  driveway  to- 
gether Thor  took  the  opportunity  to  put  himself  right  in 
the  matter  that  lay  most  urgently  on  his  mind.  "Lois 
and  I  are  to  be  married  on  one  of  the  last  days  of  Febru- 
ary," he  said,  with  his  best  attempt  to  speak  casually. 
"She  wants  to  work  it  in  before  Lent,  which  begins  on  the 
first  day  of  March.  Have  scruples  about  marrying  in 
Lent  in  their  church.  Quiet  affair.  No  one  but  the 
two  families." 

Claude  asked  the  question  as  to  which  he  felt  most 
curiosity.     "Going  to  tell  father?" 

"To-night.  No  use  shilly-shallying  about  things  of 
that  sort.     Father  mayn't  like  it;  but  he  can't  kick." 

Claude  spoke  moodily:   "He  can't  kick  in  your  case." 

"We're  grown  men,  Claude.  We're  the  only  judges  of 
what's  right  for  us.  I  don't  mean  any  disrespect  to 
father;  but  we've  got  to  be  free.  Best  way,  as  far  as  I 
see,  is  to  be  open  and  aboveboard  and  firm.  Then  every- 
body knows  where  you  are." 

Claude  made  no  response  till  they  reached  the  door- 

150 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

step,  where  he  lingered.  "Look  here,  Thor,"  he  said  then, 
"I've  got  to  put  this  thing  through  in  my  own  way,  you 
know." 

Thor  didn't  need  to  be  told  what  this  thing  was. 
"That's  all  right,  Claude.  I've  got  nothing  to  do  with 
it." 

"You've  got  something  to  do  with  it  when  you  put  up 
the  money.  And  what  I  feel,"  he  added,  complainingly, 
"is  that  my  taking  it  makes  me  look  as  if  I  was  bought." 

"Oh,  rot,  Claude!"  Thor  made  a  great  effort.  "Hang 
it  all !  when  a  fellow's  in — in  love,  and  going  to  be  married 
himself,  you  don't  suppose  he  can  ignore  his  own  brother 
who's  in  the  same  sort  of  box,  and  can't  be  married  for  the 
sake  of  a  few  hundred  dollars  ?     That  wouldn't  be  human. ' ' 

It  was  not  difficult  for  Claude  to  take  this  point  of  view, 
but  he  repeated,  tenaciously,  "I've  got  to  do  it  in  my 
own  way." 

"Good  Lord!  old  chap,  I  don't  care  how  you  do  it," 
Thor  declared,  airily,  "so  long  as  it's  done.  Just  buck 
up  and  be  a  man,  and  you'll  pull  it  off  magnificently. 
It's  the  sort  of  thing  you've  got  to  pull  off  magnificently — 
or  slump." 

"That's  what  I  think,"  Claude  agreed,  "and  so  I'm"— 
he  hesitated  before  announcing  so  bold  a  program — 
"and  so  I'm  going  to  take  her  abroad." 

"Oh!"  Thor  gave  a  little  gasp.  He  had  not  expected 
to  have  Rosie  pass  out  of  his  ken.  He  had  supposed 
that  he  should  remain  near  her,  watch  over  her,  know 
what  she  was  doing  and  what  was  being  done  to  her.  He 
was  busy  trying  to  readjust  his  mind  while  Claude  stam- 
mered out  suggestions  for  the  payment  of  Rosie's  proposed 
dowry.  It  was  clear  without  his  saying  so  that  he  hated 
doing  it;  but  he  did  say  so,  adding  that  it  made  him  feel 
as  if  he  was  bought. 

Thor  was  irritated  by  the  repetition.  "Let's  drop  that, 
Claude,  if  you  don't  mind.  Be  satisfied  once  for  all  that 
if  you  and  Rosie  accept  the  money  it  will  be  as  a  favor  to 

151 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

me.  I'm  so  built  that  I  can't  be  happy  in  my  own  mar- 
riage without  knowing  that  you  and — and  she  have  the 
chance  to  be  happy  in  yours.  With  all  the  money  that's 
coming  to  me,  and  that  I've  never  done  any  more  to 
deserve  than  you  have,  what  I'm  setting  aside  will  be  a 
trifle.  As  to  the  payments,  I'll  do  just  as  you  say.  The 
first  quarter  will  be  paid  to  Rosie  on  the  day  you're 
married — when  there'll  be  a  little  check  for  you,  for  good 
luck.  So  go  ahead  and  make  your  plans.  Go  abroad, 
if  you  want  to.     Dare  say  it's  the  best  thing  you  can  do." 

To  escape  his  brother's  shamefaced  thanks  Thor  passed 
into  the  porch.  "I'm  not  going  to  tell  any  one  about  it 
till  I'm  ready,"  Claude  warned  as  he  followed. 

Thor  turned.  "Of  course  you  know  that  father's  on 
to  the  whole  business." 

"The  deuce  he  is!" 

"Father  told  me.  How  did  you  suppose  I  knew  any- 
thing about  it?" 

"So  that's  it!  Been  wondering  all  day  who  could 
have  given  me  away.  That's  Uncle  Sim's  tricks.  Knew 
the  old  fool  had  his  eye — " 

"It  was  bound  to  come  out  somehow,  you  know,  in  a 
little  village  like  this.  Natural  enough  that  Uncle  Sim 
should  want  to  put  father  wise  to  a  matter  that  concerns 
the  whole  family.  I  thought  I'd  tell  you  so  that  you  can 
take  your  line." 

"Take  what  line?" 

"How  do  I  know?  That's  up  to  you.  The  line  that 
will  best  protect  Rosie,  I  suppose.  Remember  that  that's 
your  first  consideration  now.  I  only  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  you  can't  keep  father  in  the  dark.  I  should  say 
it  was  more  dignified,  and  perhaps  better  policy,  not  to  try." 

An  hour  later  Mrs.  Masterman  was  commenting  at  the 
dinner-table  on  the  pleasing  circumstance  that  invitations 
to  Miss  Elsie  Darling's  party  had  come  for  the  entire 
family.     There  were  cards  not  only  for  the  two  young  men, 

152 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

but  for  the  father  and  mother  also.  Since  both  the  older 
and  the  younger  members  of  society  were  included,  it  was 
clear  that  the  function  was  to  pass  the  limitations  of  a 
dance  and  become  a  ball. 

Neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Masterman  was  superior  to  this 
form  of  entertainment.  It  was  the  one  above  all  others 
that  reminded  them  that  they  belonged  to  society  in  the 
higher  sense.  They  dined  out  with  tolerable  frequency; 
with  tolerable  frequency  their  friends  dined  with  them. 
As  for  the  afternoon  teas  to  which  they  were  bidden  in  the 
course  of  a  season,  Mrs.  Masterman  could  scarcely  keep 
count  of  them.  But  balls  came  only  once  or  twice  in  a 
winter,  and  not  always  so  often  as  that.  A  ball  was  a 
community  event.  It  was  an  occasion  on  which  to  display 
the  fact  that  the  neighborhood  could  unite  in  a  gathering 
more  socially  significant  than  the  mere  frolicking  of  boys  and 
girls.  Moreover,  it  was  an  opportunity  for  proving  that 
the  higher  circles  of  the  village  stood  on  equal  terms  with 
those  of  the  city,  with  the  solidarity  of  true  aristocracies 
all  over  the  world. 

On  Mrs.  Masterman's  murmuring  something  to  the 
effect  that  Claude  would  go  to  the  ball,  of  course,  the 
young  man  mumbled  words  that  sounded  like,  "Not  for 
mine."  The  mother  understood  the  response  to  be  a 
negative,  and  replied  with  a  protest. 

"Oh,  but  you  must,  Claudie  dear.  It  '11  be  so  nice  for 
you  to  meet  Elsie.  She's  a  charming  girl,  they  say,  after 
her  years  abroad."  She  concluded,  with  a  wrinkling 
of  her  pretty  brow,  "  It  seems  to  me  you  don't  know  many 
really  nice  girls." 

She  had  been  moved  by  no  more  than  a  mother's  solici- 
tude, but  Claude  kept  his  eyes  on  his  plate.  He  knew  that 
his  father  was  probably  looking  at  him,  and  that  Thor  was 
saying,  "Now's  your  chance  to  speak  up  and  declare  that 
you  know  the  nicest  girl  in  the  world."  Poor  Claude  was 
sensible  of  the  opportunity,  and  yet  felt  himself  paralyzed 
with  regard  to  making  use  of  it.  In  reply  he  could  only 
11  i53 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

say,  vaguely,  that  if  he  had  to  go  he  would  have  to  go, 
and  not  long  afterward  Mrs.  Masterman  rose. 

The  sons  followed  their  parents  into  the  library,  paus- 
ing to  light  their  cigarettes  on  the  way.  By  the  time 
they  had  crossed  the  hall  the  head  of  the  house  had  settled 
himself  with  the  evening  paper  in  his  favorite  arm-chair 
before  the  slumbering  wood  fire.  Mrs.  Masterman 
stooped  over  the  long  table  strewn  with  periodicals,  turn- 
ing the  pages  of  a  new  magazine.  Thor  advanced  to  a 
discreet  distance  behind  his  father's  chair,  where  he 
paused  and  said,  quietly: 

"Father,  I  want  to  tell  you  and  mother  that  I'm 
engaged  to  Lois  Willoughby.  We're  to  be  married  almost 
at  once — toward  the  end  of  next  month." 

There  was  dead  silence.  As  far  as  could  be  observed, 
Masterman  continued  to  study  his  paper,  while  his  wife 
still  stooped  over  the  pages  of  her  magazine.  It  was  long 
before  the  father  said,  with  the  seeming  indifference  meant 
to  be  more  bitter  than  gall : 

"That,  I  presume,  is  your  answer  to  my  move  with 
regard  to  the  father.  Very  well,  Thor.  You're  your  own 
master.     I've  nothing  to  say." 

Before  Thor  could  explain  that  it  was  only  the  carrying 
out  of  a  long-planned  intention,  his  stepmother  looked  up 
and  spoke.  "I  have  something  to  say,  Thor  dear.  I 
hope  you're  going  to  be  very  happy.  I'm  sure  you  will 
be.     She's  a  noble  girl." 

Her  newly  germinating  vitality  having  asserted  itself 
to  this  extent,  she  stood  aghast  till  Thor  strode  up  and 
kissed  her,  saying:  "Thank  you,  mumphy.  She  is  a 
noble  girl — one  of  the  best." 

The  example  had  its  effect  on  Claude,  who  had  stood 
hesitating  in  the  doorway,  and  now  came  toward  his 
father's  chair,  though  timidly.  "Father,  I'm  going  to  be 
married,  too." 

His  mother  uttered  a  smothered  cry.  Masterman 
turned  sharply. 

154 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 


>>> 


"Who?    You?' 

The  implied  scorn  in  the  tone  put  Claude  on  his  mettle. 
"Yes,  father,"  he  tried  to  say  with  dignity.  It  was  in 
search  of  further  support  for  this  dignity  that  he  added, 
in  a  manner  that  he  tried  to  make  formal,  but  which 
became  only  faltering,  "To  —  to  —  to  Miss  Rosanna 
Fay." 

Masterman  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  returned  to  his 
newspaper.  There  were  full  three  minutes  in  which  each 
of  the  spectators  waited  for  another  word.  "Have  you 
nothing  to  say  to  me,  father?"  Claude  pleaded,  in  a  tone 
curiously  piteous. 

The  father  barely  glanced  around  over  his  shoulder. 
"What  do  you  expect  me  to  say? — to  call  you  a  damn 
fool?    The  words  would  be  wasted." 

"I'm  a  grown  man,  father — "  Claude  began  to  protest. 

"Are  you?  It's  the  first  intimation  I've  had  of  it. 
But  I'm  willing  to  take  your  word.  If  so,  you  must 
assume  a  grown  man's  responsibilities — from  now  on." 

Claude's  throat  was  dry  and  husky.  "What  do  you 
mean  by — from  now  on?" 

"I  mean  from  the  minute  when  you've  irrevocably 
chosen  between  this  woman  and  us.  You  haven't  irrev- 
ocably chosen  as  yet.     You've  still  time — to  reconsider." 

"But  if  I  don't  reconsider,  father?— if  I  can't?" 

"The  choice  is  between  her  and — us." 

He  returned  to  his  paper;  but  again  his  wife's  nascent 
will  to  live  asserted  itself,  to  no  one's  astonishment  more 
than  to  her  own.  "It's  not  between  her  and  me,  Claude," 
she  cried,  casting  as  she  did  so  a  frightened  glance  at  the 
back  of  her  husband's  head.  "  I'm  your  mother.  I  shall 
stand  by  you,  whoever  fails."  Her  words  terrified  her 
so  utterly  that  before  she  dared  to  cross  the  floor  to 
her  son  she  looked  again  beseechingly  at  the  iron-gray 
top  of  her  husband's  head  as  it  appeared  above  the  back 
of  the  arm-chair.  Nevertheless,  she  stole  swiftly  to  her 
boy  and  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.     "I'm  your 

155 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

mother,  dear,"  she  sobbed,  tremblingly;   "and  if  she's  a 
good  girl,  and  loves  you,  I'll — I'll  accept  her." 

Masterman  turned  his  newspaper  inside  out,  as  though 
pretending  not  to  hear. 

Thor  waited  till  Claude  and  his  mother,  clinging  to  each 
other,  had  crept  out  of  the  room,  before  saying,  "I'm 
responsible  for  this,  father." 

There  was  no  change  in  the  father's  attitude.  "So  I 
supposed." 

"The  girl  is  a  good  girl,  and  I  couldn't  let  Claude  break 
her  heart." 

"You  found  it  easier  to  break  mine." 

"I  don't  mean  that,  father — " 

"Then  I  can  only  say  that  you're  as  successful  in  what 
you  don't  mean  as  in  what  you  do." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"  No,  perhaps  not.  But  it  would  be  futile  for  me  to  try 
to  explain  to  you.     Good  night." 

Thor  remained  where  he  was.  "It  isn't  futile  for  me 
to  try  to  explain  to  you,  father.  I  know  Rosie  Fay,  and 
you  don't.  She's  a  beautiful  girl,  with  that  strong  char- 
acter which  Claude  needs  to  give  him  backbone.  He  is  in 
love  with  her,  and  he's  made  her  fall  in  love  with  him.  It 
wouldn't  be  decent  on  his  part  or  honorable  on  ours — " 

The  father  interrupted  wearily.  "You'll  spare  me  the 
sentimentalities.  The  facts  are  bad  enough.  When  I 
want  instructions  in  decency  and  honor  I'll  come  to  you 
and  get  them.     In  the  mean  time  I've  said — good  night." 

"But,  father,  we  must  talk  about  it — " 

Masterman  raised  himself  in  his  chair  and  turned. 
"Thor,"  he  said,  sternly,  his  words  getting  increased 
effect  from  his  childlike  lisp,  "if  you  knew  how  painful 
your  presence  is  to  me — you'd  go." 

Thor  flushed.  There  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to 
turn.  And  yet  he  had  not  gone  many  steps  beyond  the 
library  door  before  he  heard  his  father  fling  the  paper  to 
the  floor,  uttering  a  low  groan. 

iS6 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

The  young  man  stood  still,  shifting  between  two  minds. 
Should  he  go  away  and  leave  his  father  to  the  mortifying 
sense  that  his  sons  were  setting  him  at  defiance  ?  or  should 
he  return  and  insist  on  full  explanations?  He  would 
have  done  the  latter  had  it  not  been  for  the  words,  "If 
you  knew  how  painful  your  presence  is  to  me!"  He  still 
heard  them.  They  cut  him  across  the  face — across  the 
heart.     He  went  on  up-stairs. 

As  he  passed  the  open  door  of  Mrs.  Masterman's  room 
he  heard  Claude  saying:  "Oh,  mother  darling,  if  you 
knew  her,  you'd  feel  about  her  just  as  I  do.  When  she's 
dressed  up  as  a  lady  she'll  put  every  other  girl  in  the 
shade.  You  '11  see  she  will.  After  she's  had  a  year  or  two 
in  Paris — " 

Thor  entered  the  room  while  the  mother  was  crying  out : 
"Paris!  Why,  Claudie  dear,  what  are  you  talking  about? 
How  are  you  going  to  live? — let  alone  Paris!" 

"That's  all  right,  mother.  Don't  fret.  I  can  get 
money.  I'm  not  a  fool.  Look  here,"  he  added,  in  a  con- 
fidential tone,  winking  at  Thor  over  her  shoulder,  "I'll 
tell  you  something.  It's  a  secret,  mind  you.  Not  a 
word  to  father!     I'm  all  right  for  money  now." 

She  could  only  repeat,  in  a  tone  of  mystification,  "All 
right  for  money  now?" 

Claude  made  an  inarticulate  sound  of  assent.  "Got  it 
all  fixed." 

"Oh,  but  how?" 

"I  said  it  was  a  secret."  He  winked  at  his  brother 
again.  "I  shouldn't  tell  even  you,  only  you've  been  such 
a  spanking  good  mother  to  back  me  up  that  I  want  to 
ease  your  mind." 

She  threw  an  imploring  look  at  her  stepson,  though  she 
addressed  her  son.  "Oh,  Claude,  you  haven't  done  any- 
thing wrong,  have  you? — forged? — or  embezzled? — or 
whatever  it  is  they  do  in  banks." 

"No,  mother;  it's  all  on  the  square."  Because  of 
Thor's  presence  he  added:   "If  it  will  make  you  any  the 

iS7 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

more  cheerful  I'll  tell  you  this,  too.  It's  not  going  to  be 
my  money;  it  '11  be  Rosie's.  Strictly  speaking,  I  sha'n't 
have  anything  to  do  with  it.  She'll  have — about  five 
thousand  dollars  a  year!  When  it's  all  over — and  we're 
married — you  can  put  father  wise  to  that ;  but  not  before, 
mind  you." 

"  But,  Claudie  darling,  I  don't  understand  a  bit.  How 
can  she  have  five  thousand  dollars  a  year,  when  they're 
as  poor  as  poor?  And  she  hasn't  a  relation  who  could 
possibly — " 

He,  too,  threw  a  glance  at  Thor.  "She  may  not  have  a 
relation,  but  she  might  have  a — a  friend.  Now,  mother, 
this  is  just  between  you  and  me.  If  you  hadn't  been  such 
a  spanking  good  mother  I  shouldn't  have  told  you  a  word 
of  it." 

"Yes,  but,  Claude!  Think!  What  sort  of  a  friend 
could  it  possibly  be  who'd  give  a  girl  all  that  money? 
Why,  it's  ridiculous!" 

"It  isn't  ridiculous.  Is  it,  Thor?  You  leave  it  to  me, 
mumphy." 

"But  it  is  ridiculous,  Claudie  dear.  You'll  see  if  it 
isn't.  No  man  in  the  world  would  settle  five  thousand 
dollars  a  year  on  a  girl  like  that — without  a  penny — 
unless  he  had  a  reason,  and  a  very  good  reason,  too. 
Would  he,  Thor?"  she  demanded  of  her  stepson,  whom  she 
had  not  hitherto  included.  She  continued  to  address 
him:  "I  don't  care  who  he  is  or  what  he  is.  Don't  you 
agree  with  me?  Wouldn't  anybody  agree  with  me  who 
had  his  senses?" 

Thor's  heart  jumped.  This  was  a  view  of  his  inten- 
tions that  he  had  not  foreseen.  Fortunately  he  could  dis- 
arm his  stepmother  by  revealing  himself  as  the  god  from 
the  machine,  for  she  would  consider  it  no  more  than  just 
that  he  should  use  part  of  his  inheritance  for  Claude's 
benefit.  He  might  have  made  the  attempt  there  and  then 
had  not  Claude  done  it  for  himself. 

"Now  you  leave  it  to  me,  mumphy  dear.     I  know 

158 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

exactly  what  I'm  about.  I  can't  explain.  But  I'll  tell 
you  this  much  more — it  '11  make  your  mind  quite  easy — 
that  it's  all  on  my  account  that  Rosie's  to  have  the 
money."  He  gave  his  brother  another  look.  "If  she 
didn't  marry  me  she  wouldn't  get  it.  At  least,"  he  added, 
more  doubtfully,  "I  don't  think  she  would.     See?" 

Mrs.  Masterman  confessed  that  she  didn't  see — quite; 
but  her  tone  made  it  clear  that  she  was  influenced  by 
Claude's  assurances,  while  Thor  felt  it  prudent  to  go  on 
his  way  up  the  second  stairway. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THERE  were  both  amazement  and  terror  in  Rosie's 
face  when,  at  dusk  next  day,  Claude  strolled  down 
the  flowery  path  of  the  hothouse.  Since  Thor  had  turned 
from  her,  on  almost  the  same  spot,  forty-eight  hours  pre- 
viously, no  hint  from  either  of  the  brothers  had  come  her 
way.  Through  the  intervening  time  she  had  lived  in  an 
anguish  of  wonder.  What  was  happening?  What  was 
to  happen  still?  Would  anything  happen  at  all?  Had 
Claude  discovered  the  astounding  fact  that  the  elder 
brother  was  in  love  with  her?  If  he  had,  what  would  he 
do  ?  Would  he  go  wild  with  jealousy  ?  Or  would  he  never 
have  anything  to  do  with  her  again?  Either  case  was 
possible,  and  the  latter  more  than  possible  if  he  had 
received  a  hint  of  the  degree  in  which  she  had  betrayed 
herself  to  Thor. 

As  to  that,  she  didn't  know  whether  she  was  glad  or 
sorry.  She  knew  how  crude  had  been  her  self -revelation, 
and  how  shocking;  but  the  memory  of  it  gave  her  a 
measure  of  relief.  It  was  like  a  general  confession,  like 
the  open  declaration  of  what  had  been  too  long  kept 
buried  in  the  heart.  It  had  been  a  shameful  thing  to 
own  that,  loving  one  man,  she  would  have  married  another 
man  for  money;  but  a  worse  shame  lay  in  being  driven 
to  that  pass.  For  this  she  felt  herself  but  partly  respon- 
sible, if  responsible  at  all.  What  did  she,  Rosie  Fay,  care 
for  money  in  itself?  Put  succinctly,  her  first  need  was 
of  bread,  of  bread  for  herself  and  for  those  who  were 
virtually  dependent  on  her.  After  bread  she  wanted  love 
and  pleasure  and  action  and  admiration  and  whatever 

1 60 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

else  made  up  life — but  only  after  it.  She  was  craving 
for  them,  she  was  stifling  for  lack  of  them,  but  they  were 
all  secondary.  The  very  best  of  them  was  secondary. 
Only  one  thing  stood  first — and  that  was  bread. 

Undoubtedly  her  frankness  had  revolted  Thor  Master- 
man.  But  what  did  he  know  of  an  existence  which  left 
the  barest  possible  margin  for  absolute  necessity?  What 
would  life  have  meant  to  him  had  he  never  had  a  day 
since  he  first  began  to  think  when  he  had  been  entirely 
free  from  anxiety  as  to  the  prime  essentials?  Rosie 
couldn't  remember  a  time  when  the  mere  getting  of  their 
pinched  daily  food  hadn't  been  a  matter  of  contrivance, 
with  some  doubt  as  to  its  success.  She  couldn't  remember 
a  time  when  she  had  ever  been  able  to  have  a  new  dress 
or  a  pair  of  boots  without  long  calculation  beforehand. 
On  the  other  hand,  she  remembered  many  a  time  when 
the  pinched  food  couldn't  be  paid  for,  and  the  new  dress  or 
the  pair  of  boots  had  come  almost  within  reach  only  to 
be  whisked  aside  that  the  money  might  be  used  for  some- 
thing still  more  needful.  In  a  world  of  freedom  and  light 
and  flowers  and  abundance  her  little  soul  had  been  kept  in 
a  prison  where  the  very  dole  of  bread  and  water  was  stinted. 

She  had  never  been  young.  Even  in  childhood  she  had 
known  that.  She  had  known  it,  and  been  patient  with  the 
fact,  hoping  for  a  chance  to  be  young  when  she  was  older. 
If  money  came  in  then,  money  for  boots  and  bread,  for 
warm  clothes  in  winter  and  thin  clothes  in  summer,  for 
fuel  and  rent  and  taxes  and  light,  and  the  pay  of  the  men, 
and  the  innumerable  details  which,  owing  to  her  father's 
dreaminess,  she  was  obliged  to  keep  on  her  mind — if 
money  were  ever  to  come  in  for  these  things,  she  could  be 
young  with  the  best.  She  could  be  young  with  the  intenser 
happiness  that  would  come  from  spirits  long  thwarted.  It 
might  never  now  be  a  light-hearted  happiness,  but  it 
would  be  happiness  for  all  that.  It  would  be  the  deeper, 
and  the  more  satisfying,  and  the  more  aware  of  itself  for 
its  years  of  suppression. 

161 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

To  her  long  experience  in  denial  Rosie  could  only  oppose 
a  heart  more  imperiously  exacting  in  its  demands.  Her 
tense  little  spirit  didn't  know  how  to  do  otherwise.  From 
lines  of  ancestry  that  had  never  done  anything  but  toil 
with  patient  relentlessness  to  wring  from  the  soil  whatever 
it  was  capable  of  yielding,  she  had  inherited  no  habit  of 
compromise.  In  them  it  had  been  called  grit;  but  a 
softer  generation  having  let  that  word  fall  into  disuse, 
Rosie  could  only  account  for  herself  by  saying  she  "wasn't 
a  quitter."  She  meant  that  she  could  neither  forego 
what  she  asked  for,  nor  be  content  with  anything  short 
of  what  she  conceived  to  be  the  best.  Could  she  have  done 
that,  she  might  have  enjoyed  the  meager  "good  time"  of 
other  girls  in  the  village;  she  might  have  listened  to  the 
advances  of  young  Breen  the  gardener,  or  of  Matt's  col- 
league in  the  grocery-store.  But  she  had  never  presented 
such  possibilities  for  her  own  consideration.  She  was 
like  an  ant,  that  sees  but  one  object  to  the  errand  on 
which  it  has  set  out,  disdaining  diversion. 

And  if  it  had  all  summed  itself  up  into  what  looked  like 
a  hard,  unlovely  avariciousness,  it  was  because  poor  Rosie 
had  nothing  to  tell  her  the  values  and  co-relations  of  the 
different  ingredients  in  life.  For  the  element  that  suf- 
fuses good-fortune  and  ill-fortune  alike  with  corrective 
significance  she  had  imbibed  from  her  mother  one  kind  of 
scorn,  and  from  her  father  another.  She  knew  no  more 
of  it  than  did  Thor  Masterman.  Like  him,  she  could 
only  work  for  a  material  blessing  with  material  hands, 
though  without  his  advantages  for  molding  things  to  his 
will.  He  had  his  advantages  through  money.  Since  all 
things  material  are  measured  by  that,  by  that  Rosie 
measured  them.  The  matter  and  the  measure  were  all 
she  knew.  They  meant  safety  for  herself  and  for  her 
parents,  and  protection  for  Matt  when  he  came  out  of  jail. 
How  could  she  do  other  than  spend  her  heart  upon  them? 
What  choice  had  she  when  the  alternative  lay  between 
Claude  and  love  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other  Thor, 

162 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

with  his  hands  full  of  daily  bread  for  them  all?  With 
Claude  and  his  love  there  went  nothing  besides,  while  with 
Thor  and  his  daily  bread  there  would  be  peace  and  secur- 
ity for  life.  She  asked  it  of  herself;  she  asked  it,  in  imag- 
ination, of  him.  What  else  could  she  do  but  sell  herself  when 
the  price  on  her  poor  little  body  had  been  set  so  high  ? 

She  had  spent  two  burning,  rebellious  days.  All  the 
while  she  was  cooking  meals,  or  setting  tables,  or  washing 
dishes,  or  making  beds,  or  selling  flowers,  or  pruning,  or 
watering,  or  addressing  envelopes  for  the  monthly  bills, 
her  soul  had  been  raging  against  the  unjust  code  by  which 
she  would  have  to  be  judged.  Thor  would  judge  her; 
Claude  would  judge  her,  if  he  knew;  any  one  who  knew 
would  judge  her,  and  women  most  fiercely  of  all.  But 
what  did  they  know  about  it?  What  did  they  know  of 
twenty-odd  years  of  going  around  in  a  cage?  What  did 
they  know  of  the  terror  of  seeing  the  cage  itself  demolished, 
and  being  without  a  protection?  Did  they  suppose  she 
wouldn't  suffer  in  giving  up  her  love?  Of  course  she 
would  suffer!  The  very  extremity  of  her  suffering  would 
prove  the  extremity  of  her  need.  Passionately  Rosie 
defended  herself  against  her  imaginary  accusers,  because 
unconsciously  she  accused  herself. 

Nevertheless,  Claude's  sudden  appearance  startled  her, 
though  the  set  of  his  shoulders  towering  through  the  dusk 
transported  her  to  the  enchanted  land.  Here  were 
mountains,  and  lakes,  and  palaces,  and  plashed  marble 
steps,  and  the  music  of  lutes,  and  banquets  of  ambrosial 
things  to  which  daily  bread  was  as  nothing.  Claude 
brought  them  with  him.  They  were  the  conditions  of 
that  glorious  life  in  which  he  had  his  being.  They  were 
the  conditions  in  which  she  had  her  being,  too,  the  minute 
she  came  within  his  sphere. 

She  passed  through  some  poignant  seconds  as  he  ap- 
proached. For  the  first  time  since  her  idyl  had  begun 
to  give  a  new  meaning  to  existence  she  perceived  that  if 
he  renounced  her  it  would  be  the  one  thing  she  couldn't 

163 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

bear.  She  might  have  the  strength  to  give  him  up;  for 
him  to  give  her  up  would  be  beyond  all  the  limits  of  en- 
durance. She  put  it  to  herself  tersely  in  saying  it  would 
break  her  heart. 

But  he  dispelled  her  fears  by  smiling.  He  smiled  from 
what  was  really  a  long  way  off.  Even  she  could  see  that 
he  smiled  from  pleasure,  though  she  couldn't  trace  his 
pleasure  to  his  delicious  feeling  of  surprise.  If  she  had 
ceased  to  be  a  dryad  in  a  wood,  it  was  to  become  the 
Armida  of  an  enchanted  garden.  She  could  have  no  idea 
of  the  figure  she  presented  to  a  connoisseur  in  girls  as 
from  a  background  of  palms,  fern-trees,  and  banked 
masses  of  bloom  she  stared  at  him  with  lips  half  parted 
and  wide,  frightened  eyes. 

Submitting  to  this  new  witchery  in  the  same  way  as  he 
was  yielding  to  the  heavy,  languorous  perfumes  of  the 
place,  Claude  smiled  continuously.  "The  fat's  all  in  the 
fire,  Rosie,"  he  said,  in  a  loud  whisper,  as  he  drew  nearer; 
"so  we've  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  any  longer." 

It  was  some  minutes  before  she  could  give  concrete 
significance  to  these  words.  In  the  mean  time  she  occu- 
pied herself  with  assuring  him  that  there  was  no  one  in  the 
hothouse  but  herself,  and  that  in  this  gloaming  they  could 
not  be  seen  from  outside.  She  even  found  a  spot — a  kind 
of  low  staging  from  which  foliage  plants  had  recently 
been  moved  away — on  which  they  could  sit  down.  They 
did  so,  clinging  to  each  other,  though — conscious  of  her 
coarse  working-dress — she  was  swept  by  a  shameful  sense 
of  incongruity  in  being  on  such  terms  with  this  faultlessly 
attired  man.  She  did  her  best  to  shrink  from  sight,  to 
blot  herself  out  in  his  embrace,  unaware  that  to  Claude 
the  very  roughness,  and  the  scent  of  growing  things,  gave 
her  a  savage,  earthy  charm. 

He  explained  the  situation  to  her,  word  by  word.  When 
he  told  her  that  their  meetings  were  known  to  his  father, 
she  hid  her  face  on  his  breast.  When  he  went  on  to 
describe  how  resolute  he  had  been  in  taking  the  bull  by 

164 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

the  horns,  she  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  looked 
up  into  his  face  with  the  devotion  of  a  dog.  On  hearing 
what  a  good  mother  Mrs.  Masterman  had  been,  her 
utterances,  which  welled  up  out  of  her  heart  as  if  she  had 
been  crying,  were  like  broken  phrases  of  blessing.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  was  only  half  listening.  She  was 
telling  herself  how  mad  she  had  been  in  fancying  for  an 
instant  that  she  could  ever  have  married  Thor — that  she 
could  ever  have  married  any  one,  no  matter  how  great  the 
need  or  how  immense  the  compensation.  Having  con- 
fronted the  peril,  she  knew  now,  as  she  had  not  known  it 
hitherto,  that  her  heart  belonged  to  this  man  who  held 
her  in  his  arms  for  him  to  do  with  it  as  he  pleased.  He 
might  treasure  it,  or  he  might  play  with  it,  or  he  might 
break  it.  It  was  all  one.  It  was  his.  It  was  his  and  she 
was  his — to  shatter  on  the  wheel  or  to  trample  in  the  mire, 
just  as  he  was  inclined.  It  was  so  clear  to  her  now  that 
she  wondered  she  hadn't  seen  it  with  equal  force  in  those 
days  when  she  was  so  resolute  in  declaring  that  she  "knew 
what  she  was  doing." 

And  yet  within  a  few  minutes  she  saw  how  difficult 
it  was  to  surrender  herself,  even  mentally,  without  re- 
serves. She  was  still  listening  but  partially.  She 
recognized  plainly  enough  that  the  things  he  was  saying 
were  precisely  those  which  a  month  ago  would  have  filled 
her  soul  with  satisfaction.  He  loved  her,  loved  her,  loved 
her.  Moreover,  he  had  found  the  means  of  sweeping  all 
obstacles  aside.  They  were  to  be  married  as  soon  as 
possible — just  as  soon  as  he  could  "arrange  things." 
Thor  and  his  mother  were  with  them,  and  his  father's 
conversion  would  be  only  a  matter  of  time.  These  as- 
surances, by  which  all  the  calculations  of  her  youth  were 
crowned,  found  her  oddly  apathetic.  It  was  not  because 
she  had  lost  the  knowledge  of  their  value,  but  only  that 
they  had  become  subsidiary  to  the  great  central  fact 
that  she  was  his — without  money  or  price  on  his  side, 
and  no  matter  at  what  cost  on  hers. 

165 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

It  was  only  when  he  began  to  murmur  semi-coherent 
plans  for  the  future,  in  which  she  detected  the  word  Paris, 
that  she  was  frightened. 

"Oh,  but,  Claude  darling,  how  could  I  go  to  Paris  when 
there's  so  much  for  me  to  do  here?" 

It  could  not  be  said  that  he  took  offense,  but  he  hinted 
at  reproval.     "Here,  dearest?    Where?" 

"Here  where  we  are.     I  don't  see  how  I  could  go  away." 

"But  you'd  have  to  go  away — if  we  were  married." 

"Would  it  be  necessary  to  go  so  far?" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  the  farther  the  better?" 

"For  some  things.  But,  oh,  Claude,  I  have  so  many 
things  to  consider!" 

"But  I  thought  that  when  a  woman  married  she 
left—" 

"Her  father  and  mother  and  everything.  Yes,  I  know. 
But  how  can  I  leave  mine — when  I'm  the  only  one  who 
has  any  head?  Mother's  getting  better,  but  father's 
not  much  good  except  for  mooning  over  books.  And 
then" — she  hesitated,  but  whipped  herself  on — "then 
there's  Matt.  He'll  be  out  before  long.  Some  one  must 
be  here  to  tell  them  what  to  do." 

He  withdrew  his  arms  from  about  her.  "Of  course, 
if  you're  going  to  raise  so  many  difficulties — " 

"I'm  not  raising  difficulties,  Claude  darling.  I'm  only 
telling  you  what  difficulties  there  are.  God  knows  I  wish 
there  weren't  any;  but  what  can  I  do?  If  it  were  just 
going  to  Paris  and  back — " 

"Well,  why  not  go — and  come  back  when  we're  obliged 
to?" 

In  the  end  they  compromised  on  that,  each  considering 
it  enough  for  the  present.  Rosie  was  unwilling  to  dampen 
his  ardor  when  for  the  first  time  he  seemed  able  to  enter 
into  her  needs  as  a  human  being  with  cares  and  ties.  He 
discussed  them  all,  displaying  a  wonderful  disposition 
to  shoulder  and  share  them.  He  went  so  far  as  to  develop 
a  philanthropic  interest  in  Matt.     Rosie  had  never  known 

166 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

anything  so  amazing.     She  clasped  him  to  her  with  a  kind 
of  fear  lest  the  man  should  disappear  in  the  god. 

"I'll  talk  to  Thor  about  him,"  Claude  said,  confidently. 
"Got  a  bee  in  his  bonnet,  Thor  has,  about  helping  chaps 
who  come  out  of  jail,  and  all  that." 

Rosie  shuddered.  It  was  curiously  distasteful  for  her 
to  apply  to  Thor.  She  felt  guilty  toward  him.  If  she 
could  do  as  she  chose,  she  would  never  see  him  again. 
She  said  nothing,  however,  while  Claude  went  on:  "  Thor's 
a  top-hole  brother,  you  know.  You'll  find  that  out  one  of 
these  days.  Lots  of  things  I  shall  have  to  explain  to  you." 
He  added,  without  leading  up  to  it.  "He's  engaged  to 
Lois  Willoughby." 

Rosie  sprang  from  his  arms.     "What?    Already?" 

She  was  standing.  He  looked  up  at  her  curiously. 
"Already?  Already — how?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

She  tried  to  recapture  her  position. 

"Why,  already — right  after  us." 

She  reseated  herself,  getting  possession  of  one  of  his 
hands.  To  this  tenderness  he  made  no  response.  He 
seemed  to  ruminate.  "Say,  Rosie — "  he  began  at  last, 
but  apparently  thought  better  of  what  he  had  meant  to 
say.  "All  right,"  he  broke  in,  carelessly,  going  on  to 
speak  of  the  wisdom  of  leaving  the  public  out  of  their  con- 
fidence until  their  plans  were  more  fully  matured.  "Thor's 
to  be  married  about  the  twentieth  of  next  month,"  he 
continued,  while  Rosie  was  on  her  guard  against  further 
self -betrayal.  "After  that  we'll  have  Lois  on  our  side, 
and  she'll  do  a  lot  for  us." 

By  the  time  Claude  emerged  from  the  hothouse  it  was 
dark.  Glad  of  the  opportunity  of  slipping  away  unob- 
served, he  was  hurrying  toward  the  road  when  he  found 
himself  confronted  by  Jasper  Fay.  In  the  latter's  voice 
there  was  a  sternness  that  got  its  force  from  the  fact  that 
it  was  so  mild. 

"You  been  in  the  hothouse,  Mr.  Claude?" 

167 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Claude  laughed.  In  his  present  mood  of  happiness 
he  could  easily  have  announced  himself  as  Fay's  future 
son-in-law.  Nothing  but  motives  of  prudence  held  him 
back.  He  answered,  jestingly,  "Been  in  to  see  if  you  had 
any  American  beauties." 

"No,  Mr.  Claude;  we  don't  grow  them;  no  kind  of 
American  beauties." 

Claude  laughed  again.  "Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that. 
Good  night,  Mr.  Fay.     Glad  to  have  seen  you." 

He  passed  on  with  spirits  slightly  dashed  because  his 
condescension  met  with  no  response.  He  was  so  quick 
to  feel  that  Fay's  silence  struck  him  as  hostile.  It  struck 
him  as  hostile  with  a  touch  of  uncanniness.  On  glancing 
back  over  his  shoulder  he  saw  that  Fay  was  following 
him  watchfully,  like  a  dog  that  sneaks  after  an  intruder 
till  he  has  left  the  premises.  Being  sensitive  to  the  creepy 
and  the  sinister,  Claude  was  glad  when  he  had  reached 
the  road. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  provision  that  for  the  moment  he  was  to  lead  his 
customary  life  and  Rosie  hers  made  it  possible  for 
Claude  to  attend  the  ball  by  which  Mrs.  Darling  drew  the 
notice  of  the  world  to  her  daughter.  He  did  so  with  hes- 
itations, compunctions,  reluctances,  and  repugnances  which 
in  no  wise  diminished  his  desire  to  be  present  at  the  event. 

It  took  place  in  the  great  circular  ball-room  of  the  city's 
newest  and  most  splendid  hotel.  The  ball-room  itself  was 
white-and-gold  and  Louis  Quinze.  Against  this  back- 
ground a  tasteful  decorator  had  constructed  a  colonnade 
that  reproduced  in  flowers  the  exquisite  marble  circle  of 
the  Bosquet  at  Versailles.  An  imitation  of  Girardon's 
fountain  splashed  in  the  center  of  the  room  and  cooled  the 
air. 

Claude  arrived  late.  He  did  so  partly  to  compromise 
with  his  compunctions  and  partly  to  accentuate  his  value. 
In  gatherings  at  which  young  men  were  sometimes  at  a 
premium  none  knew  better  than  he  the  heightened  worth 
of  one  who  sauntered  in  when  no  more  were  to  be  looked 
for,  and  who  carried  himself  with  distinction.  Handsome 
at  any  time,  Claude  rose  above  his  own  levels  when  he  was 
in  evening  dress.  His  figure  was  made  for  a  white  waist- 
coat, his  feet  for  dancing-pumps.  Moreover,  he  knew  how 
to  enter  a  room  with  that  modesty  which  prompts  a  hostess 
to  be  encouraging.  As  he  stood  rather  timidly  in  the 
doorway,  long  after  the  little  receiving  group  had  broken 
up,  Mrs.  Darling  said  to  herself  that  she  had  never  seen  a 
more  attractive  young  man — whoever  he  was ! 

She  was  glad  afterward  that  she  had  made  this  reserva- 
12  169 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

tion,  for  without  it  she  might  have  been  prejudiced  against 
him  on  learning  that  he  was  Archie  Masterman's  son. 
As  it  was,  she  could  feel  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers  were 
not  to  be  visited  on  the  children,  especially  in  the  case 
of  so  delightful  a  lad.  Mrs.  Darling  had  an  eye  for  mas- 
culine good  looks,  particularly  when  they  were  accompa- 
nied by  a  suggestion  of  the  thoroughbred.  Claude's  very 
shyness — the  gentlemanly  hesitation  which  on  the  thresh- 
old of  a  ball-room  has  no  dandified  airs  of  seeming  too 
much  at  ease — had  this  suggestion  of  the  thoroughbred. 
Mrs.  Darling,  dragging  a  long,  pink  train  and  waving 
slowly  a  bespangled  pink  fan,  moved  toward  him  at  once. 

"How  d'w  do?  So  glad  to  see  you!  I'm  afraid  my 
daughter  is  dancing." 

There  was  something  in  her  manner  that  told  him  she 
had  no  idea  who  he  was — something  that  could  be  com- 
bined with  polite  welcome  only  by  one  born  to  be  a 
hostess. 

Claude  had  that  ready  perception  of  his  role  which 
makes  for  social  success.  He  bowed  with  the  right  in- 
clination, and  spoke  with  a  gravity  dictated  by  respect. 
"I'm  afraid  I  must  introduce  myself,  Mrs.  Darling.  I'm 
so  late.     I'm  Claude  Masterman.     My  father  is — " 

"Oh,  they're  here!  So  lovely  your  mother  looks! 
Really  there's  not  a  young  girl  in  the  room  can  touch  her. 
Won't  you  find  some  one  and  dance?  I'm  sorry  my 
daughter —  But  later  on  I'll  find  her  and  intro —  Why, 
Maidie,  there  you  are!  I  thought  you'd  never  come. 
How  d'w  do,  dear?" 

A  more  important  guest  than  himself  being  greeted, 
Claude  felt  at  liberty  to  move  on  a  pace  or  two  and  look 
over  the  scene.  It  was  easy  to  do  this,  for  the  outer  rim 
of  the  circle,  that  which  came  beneath  the  colonnade,  was 
raised  by  two  steps  above  the  space  reserved  for  dancing. 
The  coup  aVceil  was  therefore  extensive. 

A  mass  of  color,  pleasing  and  confused,  revolved  lan- 
guorously to  those  strains  of  the  Viennese  operetta  in  which 

170 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

the  waltz  might  be  said  to  have  finished  the  autocracy  of 
its  long  reign.  The  rhythm  of  the  dancers  was  as  regular 
and  gentle  as  the  breathing  of  a  child.  In  glide  and  turn, 
in  balance  and  smoothness,  in  that  lift  which  was  scarcely 
motion,  there  was  the  suggestion  of  frenzy  restrained,  of 
passion  lulled,  which  emanates  from  the  barely  perceptible 
heave  of  a  slumbering  summer  sea.  It  was  dreamy  to  a 
charm;  it  was  graceful  to  the  point  at  which  the  eye 
begins  to  sicken  of  gracefulness;  it  was  monotonous  with 
the  force  of  a  necromantic  spell.  It  was  soothing;  it 
also  threw  a  hint  of  melancholy  into  a  gathering  intended 
to  be  gay.  It  was  as  though  all  that  was  most  senti- 
mentally lovely  in  the  essence  of  the  nineteenth  century 
had  concentrated  its  strength  to  subdue  the  daring  spirit 
of  the  twentieth,  winning  a  decade  of  success.  Now, 
however,  that  the  decade  was  past,  there  were  indications 
of  revolt.  On  the  arc  of  the  circle  most  remote  from  the 
eye  of  the  hostess  audacious  couples  were  giving  way  to 
bizarre  little  dips  and  kicks  and  attitudes,  named  by  out- 
landish names,  inaugurating  a  new  freedom. 

Claude  stood  alone  beneath  one  of  the  wide,  delicate 
floral  arches — a  spectator  who  was  not  afraid  of  being 
observed.  In  reality  he  was  noting  to  himself  the  degree 
to  which  he  had  passed  beyond  the  merely  pleasure-seeking 
impulse.  In  Rosie  and  Rosie's  cares  he  had  come  to 
realities.  He  was  rather  proud  of  it.  With  regard  to 
the  young  men  and  young  women  swirling  in  this  varie- 
gated whirlpool,  as  well  as  to  those  who,  wearied  with  the 
dance,  were  sitting  or  reclining  on  the  steps,  where  rugs 
and  cushions  had  been  thrown  for  their  convenience,  he 
felt  a  distinct  superiority.  They  were  still  in  the  childish 
stage,  while  he  was  grown  to  be  a  man.  To  the  pretty 
girls,  with  their  Parisian  frocks  and  their  relatively  idle 
lives,  Rosie,  with  her  power  of  tackling  actualities,  was 
as  a  human  being  to  a  race  of  marionettes.  It  would  be 
necessary  for  him,  in  deference  to  his  hosts,  to  step  down 
among  them  in  a  minute  or  two  and  twirl  in  their  com- 

171 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE   ANGELS 

pany ;  but  he  would  do  it  with  a  certain  pity  for  those  to 
whom  this  sort  of  thing  was  really  a  pastime;  he  would  do 
it  as  one  for  whom  pastimes  had  lost  their  meaning  and 
who  would  be  in  some  sense  taking  a  farewell. 

The  music  breathed  out  its  last  drowsy  cadence,  and 
the  whirlpool  resolved  itself  into  a  series  of  shimmering, 
subsidiary  eddies.  There  was  a  decentralizing  movement 
toward  the  rugs  and  cushions  on  the  steps,  or  to  the  seclu- 
sion of  seats  skilfully  embowered  amid  groups  of  palms. 
Dowagers  sought  the  rose-colored  settees  against  the 
walls.  Gentlemen,  clasping  their  white-gloved  hands  at 
the  base  of  their  spinal  columns,  bent  in  graceful  con- 
versational postures.  A  few  pairs  of  attractive  young 
people  continued  to  pace  the  floor.  Claude  remained 
where  he  was.  He  remained  where  he  was  partly  because 
he  hadn't  decided  what  else  to  do,  and  partly  because  his 
quick  eye  had  singled  out  the  one  girl  in  the  room  who 
embodied  something  that  was  not  embodied  by  every 
other  girl. 

When  first  he  saw  her  she  was  standing  beside  the 
Girardon  fountain  in  conversation  with  a  young  man. 
The  fact  that  the  young  man  was  his  friend  Cheever 
brought  her  directly  within  Claude's  circle  and  stirred 
that  spirit  of  emulation  which  five  minutes  earlier  he 
thought  he  had  outlived.  The  girl  was  adjusting  some- 
thing in  her  corsage,  her  glance  flying  upward  from  the 
action  of  her  fingers  toward  Cheever's  face,  not  shyly 
or  coquettishly,  but  with  a  perfectly  straightforward 
nonchalance  which  might  have  meant  anything  from  indif- 
ference to  defiance. 

Claude  knew  the  precise  moment  at  which  she  noticed 
him  by  the  fact  that  she  glanced  toward  him  twice  in 
rapid  succession,  after  which  Cheever  glanced  toward  him, 
too.  He  understood  then  that  she  had  been  sufficiently 
struck  by  him  to  ask  his  name,  and  judged  that  Billy 
would  treat  him  to  some  such  pardonable  epithet  as 
"awful  ass,"  in  order  to  keep  her  attention  on  himself. 

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THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

In  this  apparently  he  didn't  succeed,  for  presently  they 
began  to  saunter  in  Claude's  direction.  The  latter  stood 
his  ground. 

In  the  knowledge  that  he  could  endure  scrutiny,  he 
stood  his  ground  with  an  ease  that  plainly  roused  the 
young  lady's  interest.  With  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  her 
cavalier  she  sauntered  forward,  and,  swerving  slightly, 
sauntered  by.  She  sauntered  by  with  a  lingering  look  of 
curiosity  that  seemed  to  throw  him  a  challenge.  Never 
in  his  life  had  Claude  received  such  a  look.  It  was  per- 
haps the  characteristic  look  of  the  girl  of  the  twentieth 
century.  It  was  neither  bold  nor  rude  nor  self-assertive, 
but  it  was  unconscious,  inquiring,  and  unabashed.  For 
Claude  it  was  a  new  experience,  calling  out  in  him  a  new 
response. 

It  was  a  rule  with  Claude  never  to  take  the  initiative 
with  girls  of  his  own  class,  or  with  those  who — because 
they  lived  in  the  city  while  he  lived  in  the  village — felt 
themselves  geographically  his  superiors.  He  found  it 
wise  policy  to  wait  to  be  sought,  and  therefore  fell  back 
toward  his  hostess  with  compliments  for  her  scheme  of 
decoration.  He  got  the  reward  he  hoped  for  when  Mrs. 
Darling  called  to  her  daughter,  saying: 

' '  Elsie  dear,  come  here.  I  want  to  introduce  Mr.  Claude 
Masterman  " 

So  it,  happened  that  when  the  nineteenth  century  was 
putting  forth  a  further  effort  with  the  swooning  phrases 
of  the  barcarolle  from  the  "Contes  d'Hoffmann,"  adapted 
to  the  Boston,  Claude  found  himself  swaying  with  the 
twentieth. 

They  had  not  much  to  say.  Whatever  interest  they  felt 
in  each  other  was  guarded,  taciturn.  When  they  talked  it 
was  in  disjointed  sentences  on  fragmentary  subjects. 

"You've  been  abroad,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes;  for  the  last  five  years." 

"Do  you  like  being  back?" 

The  answer  was  doubtful.     ' '  Rather.    For  some  things. " 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Then,  as  though  to  explain  this  lack  of  enthusiasm, 
"Everybody  looks  alike."  She  qualified  this  by  adding, 
"You  don't." 

"Neither  do  you,"  he  stated,  in  the  matter-of-fact  tone 
which  he  felt  to  be  suited  to  the  piquantly  matter-of-fact 
in  her  style. 

It  was  a  minute  or  two  before  either  of  them  spoke  again. 
"You've  got  a  brother,  haven't  you?  My  father's  his 
guardian  or  something." 

Assenting  to  these  statements,  Claude  said  further, 
"He  couldn't  come  to-night  because  he's  going  to  be 
married  on  Thursday." 

"To  that  Miss  Willoughby,  isn't  it?"  A  jerky  pause 
was  followed  by  a  jerky  addition:   "I  think  she's  nice." 

"Yes,  she  is;   top-hole.     So's  my  brother." 

She  threw  back  her  head  to  fling  him  up  a  smile  that 
struck  him  as  adorably  straightforward.  "I  like  to  hear 
one  brother  speak  of  another  like  that.     You  don't  often." 

"Oh,  well,  every  brother  couldn't,  you  know." 

They  had  circled  and  reversed  more  than  once  before 
she  sighed:  "I  wish  I  had  a  brother — or  a  sister.  It's  an 
awful  bore  being  the  only  one." 

"Better  to  be  the  only  one  than  one  of  too  many." 

More  minutes  had  gone  by  in  the  suave  swinging  of 
their  steps  to  Offenbach's  somnolent  measures  when  she 
asked,  abruptly,  "Do  you  skate?" 

"Sometimes.     Do  you?" 

"I  go  to  the  Coliseum." 

Claude's  next  question  slipped  out  with  the  daring 
simplicity  he  knew  how  to  employ.  "Do  you  go  on 
particular  days  ?" 

"  I  generally  go  on  Tuesdays."  If  she  was  moved  by  an 
afterthought  it  was  without  flurry  or  apparent  sense  of 
having  committed  an  indiscretion.  "Not  every  Tues- 
day," she  said,  quietly,  and  dropped  the  subject  there. 

When,  a  few  minutes  later,  she  was  resting  on  a  rug 
thrown  down  on  the  steps,  with  Claude  posed  gracefully  by 

174 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

her  side,  Archie  Masterman  found  the  opportunity  to 
stroll  near  enough  to  his  wife  to  say  in  an  undertone, 
"Do  you  see  Claude?" 

Ena's  answer  was  no  more  than  a  flutter  of  the  eyelids, 
but  a  nutter  of  the  eyelids  quite  sufficient  to  take  in  the 
summing  up  of  significant,  unutterable  things  in  her 
husband's  face. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BY  the  time  Thor  and  Lois  had  returned  from  their 
honeymoon  in  early  May  the  line  of  battle  in 
Claude's  soul  had  been  extended.  The  Claude  who  might 
be  was  fighting  hard  to  get  the  better  of  the  Claude  who 
was.  It  was,  nevertheless,  the  Claude  who  was  that 
spoke  in  response  to  the  elder  brother's  timid  inquiry 
concerning  the  situation  as  it  affected  Rosie  Fay.  Hardly 
knowing  how  to  frame  his  question,  Thor  had  put  it 
awkwardly. 

"Done  anything  yet?" 

"No." 

In  the  little  smoking-room  that  had  been  Len's  and 
was  now  Thor's — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  having  retired 
already  to  their  petit  trou  pas  cher — they  puffed  at  their 
cigars  in  silence.  It  had  been  the  wish  of  both  bride  and 
bridegroom  that  Claude  should  dine  with  them  on  their 
second  evening  at  home.  Thor  had  manoeuvered  for 
these  few  minutes  alone  with  his  brother  in  order  to  get 
the  information  he  was  now  seeking.  For  his  own  as- 
surance there  were  things  he  needed  to  know.  He 
wanted  to  feel  convinced  that  he  hadn't  acted  hastily, 
that  in  marrying  he  had  made  no  mistake.  There  would 
be  proof  of  that  when  he  saw  that  Claude  and  Rosie  had 
found  their  happiness  in  each  other,  and  that  in  what  he 
himself  had  done — there  had  been  no  other  way!  He 
wished  that  Uncle  Sim's  pietistic  refrain  wouldn't  hum  so 
persistently  in  his  memory:  "Oh,  tarry  thou  the  Lord's 
leisure!"  He  didn't  believe  in  a  Lord's  leisure;  but 
neither  did  he  want  to  be  afraid  of  his  own  haste.     He  had 

176 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

grown  so  self-conscious  on  the  subject  that  it  took  courage 
for  him  to  say: 

"Isn't  it  getting  to  be  about  time?" 

Claude  drew  the  cigar  from  his  lips  and  stared  obliquely. 
"Look  here,  old  chap;  I  thought  I  was  to  put  this  thing 
through  in  my  own  way?" 

"Oh,  quite  so;  quite  so." 

Claude's  thrust  went  home  when  he  said,  "I  don't  see 
why  you  should  be  in  such  a  hurry  about  it."  He  followed 
this  by  a  question  that  Thor  found  equally  pertinent: 
"Why  the  devil  are  you?" 

"Because  I  thought  you  were." 

"Well,  even  if  I  am,  I  don't  see  any  reason  for  rushing 
things." 

"Oh,  would  you  call  it — rushing?"  He  threw  off,  care- 
lessly, "I  hear  you  go  a  good  deal  to  the  Darlings'!" 

"Not  any  oftener  than  they  ask  me." 

"Well,  then,  they  ask  you  pretty  often,  don't  they?" 

"I  suppose  they  do  it  when  they  feel  inclined.  I 
haven't  counted  the  number  of  occasions." 

"No;  but  I  dare  say  Rosie  has." 

"I'm  not  a  fool,  Thor.  I  don't  talk  to  Rosie  about  the 
Darlings." 

"Nor  to  the  Darlings  about  her.  That's  the  point. 
At  least,  it's  one  of  the  two  points ;  and  both  are  important. 
It's  no  more  unjust  for  Rosie  Fay  to  know  nothing  of 
Elsie  Darling  than  it  is  for  Elsie  Darling  to  know  nothing 
of  Rosie  Fay." 

"Oh,  rot,  Thor!"  Claude  sprang  to  his  feet,  knocking 
off  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into  the  fireplace.  "What  do  you 
think  I'm  up  to?" 

"I  don't  know.  And  what  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  you 
don't  know." 

"If  you  think  I  mean  to  leave  Rosie  in  the  lurch — " 

" I  don't  think  you  mean  it — no!" 

"Then,  if  you  think  I'd  do  it—" 

"The  surest  way  not  to  do  it  is  to — do  the  other  thing." 

i77 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"  I'll  do  the  other  thing  when  I'm  ready — not  before." 

"Humph!    That's  just  what  I  thought  would  happen." 

"And  this  is  just  what  I  thought  would  happen — that 
because  you'd  put  up  that  confounded  money  you'd  try 
to  make  me  feel  I  was  bought.  Well,  I'm  not  bought. 
See?  Rather  than  be  bribed  into  doing  what  I  mean  to 
do  anyhow  I'll  not  do  it  at  all." 

"Oh,  if  you  mean  to  do  it  anyhow — " 

Claude  rounded  on  his  brother  indignantly.  "Say, 
Thor,  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  a  damn  scoundrel?" 

"  Do  you  think  you'd  be  a  damn  scoundrel  if  you  didn't 
put  it  through?" 

"I  should  be  worse.  Even  a  damn  scoundrel  can  be 
called  a  man,  and  I  should  have  forfeited  the  name. 
There!     Does  that  satisfy  you?" 

"Up  to  a  point — yes." 

Claude  sniffed.  "You're  such  a  queer  chap,  Thor,  that 
if  I've  satisfied  you  up  to  a  point  I  ought  to  be  content." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,  Claude.  I  only  hoped  that  you'd  be 
able  to  go  on  with  it  for  some  better  reason  than  just — 
just  not  to  be  a  scoundrel." 

"Good  Lord,  old  chap!  I'm  crazy  about  it.  If  Rosie 
wouldn't  hum  and  haw  I'd  be  the  happiest  man  alive." 

"  Oh  ?  So  Rosie  hums  and  haws,  does  she  ?  What  about  ?" 

"About  that  confounded  family  of  hers.  Must  do 
this  for  the  father,  and  that  for  the  mother,  and  something 
else  for  the  beastly  cub  that's  in  jail.  You  can  see  the 
position  that  puts  me  in." 

"But  if  you're  really  in  love  with  her — " 

"I'm  really  in  love  with  her,  I'm  not  with  them.  I 
never  pretended  to  be.  But  if  I  have  to  marry  the  bunch, 
the  cub  and  all — " 

Thor  couldn't  help  thinking  of  the  opening  he  would 
have  had  here  for  his  own  favorite  kinds  of  activity. 
"Then  that  '11  give  you  a  chance  to  help  them." 

"Not  so  stuck  on  helping  people  as  you,  old  chap. 
Want  help  myself." 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"But  you've  got  help,  whereas  they've  got  no  one. 
You'll  be  a  godsend  to  them." 

"That's  just  what  I'm  afraid  of.  Who  wants  to  be  a 
godsend  to  people?" 

"I  should  think  any  one  would." 

"  If  I'm  a  godsend  to  them,  it  shows  what  they  must  be." 

"Mustn't  undervalue  yourself.  Besides,  you  knew 
what  they  were  when  you  began — " 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,  Thor!  I  didn't  begin.  It— it  hap- 
pened." 

Thor's  eyes  followed  his  brother  as  the  latter  began 
moving  restlessly  about  the  room.  "Well,  you're  glad 
it  happened,  aren't  you?" 

Claude  stopped  abruptly.  "Of  course  I  am.  But 
what  stumps  me  is  why  you  should  be.  See  here ;  would 
you  be  as  keen  on  it  if  I  were  going  to  marry  some  one 
else?" 

Before  so  leading  a  question  Thor  had  to  choose  his 
words.  "  I'd  be  just  as  keen  on  it;  only  if  you  were  going 
to  marry  some  one  else,  some  one  in  circumstances  more 
like  your  own,  you  wouldn't  require  so  much  of  my — of 
my  sympathy." 

"Well,  it  beats  me,"  Claude  admitted,  starting  for  the 
door.  "I  know  you're  a  good  chap  at  heart — top-hole, 
of  course! — but  I  shouldn't  have  supposed  you  were  as 
good  as  all  that.     I'll  be  darned  if  I  should !" 

Thor  thought  it  best  not  to  inquire  too  precisely  into 
the  suggestions  implied  by  "all  that,"  contenting  himself 
with  asking,  "When  may  I  tell  Lois?" 

Claude  answered  over  his  shoulder  as  he  passed  into 
the  hall.     "Tell  her  myself — perhaps  now." 

He  joined  his  sister-in-law  in  the  drawing-room,  though 
he  didn't  tell  her.  He  was  on  the  point  of  doing  so  once 
or  twice,  but  sheered  off  to  something  else. 

"Awful  queer  fellow,  Thor.     Can  you  make  him  out?" 

Lois  was  doing  something  with  white  silk  or  thread 
which  she  hooked  in  and  out  with  a  crocheting  implement. 

179 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

The  action,  as  she  held  the  work  up,  showed  the  beauty 
of  her  hands.  On  her  lips  there  was  a  dim,  happy  smile. 
"Making  Thor  out  is  a  good  deal  like  reading  in  a 
language  you're  just  beginning  to  learn;  you  only  see 
some  of  the  beauties  yet — but  you  know  you'll  find  plenty 
more  when  you  get  on  a  bit.  In  the  mean  while  the 
idioms  may  bother  you." 

Claude,  who  was  leaning  forward  limply,  his  elbows  on 
his  knees,  made  a  circular,  protesting  movement  of  his 
neck  and  head,  as  though  his  collar  fitted  him  uncomfort- 
ably.    "Well,  he's  all  Greek  to  me." 

"But  they  say  Greek  richly  repays  those  who  study 
it." 

"Humph!  'Fraid  I'm  not  built  that  way.  Do  you 
know  why  he's  got  such  a  bee  in  his  bonnet  about — ?" 

He  was  going  to  say,  in  order  to  lead  up  to  his  an- 
nouncement, "about  Fay,  the  gardener";  but  he  couldn't. 
The  words  wouldn't  come  out.  The  prospect  of  telling 
any  one  that  he  was  going  to  marry  little  Rosie  Fay  ter- 
rified him.  He  hardly  understood  now  how  he  could 
have  told  his  father  and  mother.  He  would  never 
have  done  it  if  Thor  hadn't  been  behind  him.  As  it  was, 
both  his  parents  were  so  discreet  concerning  his  confidence 
that  neither  had  mentioned  it  since  that  night — which 
made  his  situation  endurable.  So  he  changed  the  form 
of  his  question  to — "bee  in  his  bonnet  about — helping 
people?" 

"Oh,  it  isn't  a  bee  in  his  bonnet.  It's  just — himself. 
He  can't  do  anything  else." 

He  said,  moodily,  "Perhaps  he  doesn't  help  them  as 
much  as  he  thinks." 

"He  doesn't — as  much  as  he  wants  to.     I  know  that." 

"Well,  why  not?" 

She  dropped  her  work  to  her  lap  and  looked  vaguely 
toward  the  dying  fire.  Her  air  was  that  of  a  person  who 
had  already  considered  the  question,  though  to  little  pur- 
pose.    "I  don't  know.     Sometimes  I  think  he  doesn't 

1 80 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

go  the  right  way  to  work.  And  yet  it  can  hardly  be  that. 
Certainly  no  one  could  go  to  work  with  a  better  heart." 

Claude  was  referring  inwardly  to  Rosie's  five  thousand 
a  year,  and  perceiving  that  it  created  as  many  difficulties 
as  it  did  away  with,  when  he  said,  "Thinks  everything  a 
matter  of  dollars  and  cents." 

She  received  this  pensively.     "Perhaps." 

And  yet  Thor's  warning  sent  Claude  to  see  Rosie  on 
the  following  afternoon.  It  was  not  his  regular  day  for 
coming,  so  that  his  appearance  was  a  matter  of  happy 
terror  tempered  only  by  the  fact  that  he  caught  her  in 
her  working-dress.  His  regular  days  were  those  on  which 
Jasper  Fay  took  his  garden- truck  to  town.  Fay  rarely 
returned  then  before  six  or  seven,  so  that  with  the  early 
twilights  there  was  time  for  an  enchanted  hour  in  the 
gloaming.  The  gloaming  and  the  blossoms  and  the  lan- 
guorous heat  and  the  heavy  scents  continued  to  act  on 
Claude's  senses  as  a  love-philter  might  in  his  veins. 

It  was  the  kind  of  meeting  to  be  clandestine.  Secrecy 
was  a  necessary  ingredient  in  its  deliciousness.  The  charm 
of  the  whole  relation  was  in  its  being  kept  sub  rosa.  Sub 
rosa  was  the  term.  It  should  remain  under  the  rose  where 
it  had  had  its  origin.  It  should  be  a  stolen  bliss  in  a 
man's  life  and  not  a  daily  staple.  That  was  something 
Thor  would  never  understand,  that  a  man's  life  needed  a 
stolen  bliss  to  give  it  piquancy.  There  was  a  kind  of 
bliss  which  when  it  ceased  to  be  hidden  ceased  to  be 
exquisite.  Mysteries  were  seductive  because  they  were 
mysteries,  not  because  they  were  proclaimed  and  ex- 
pounded in  the  market-place.  Rosie  in  her  working- 
dress  among  the  fern-trees  and  the  great  white  Easter 
lilies  was  Rosie  as  a  mystery,  as  a  bliss.  It  was  the  pity 
of  pities  that  she  couldn't  be  left  so,  where  she  belonged — 
in  the  state  in  which  she  met  so  beautifully  all  the  re- 
quirements of  taste.  To  drag  her  out,  and  put  her  into 
spheres  she  wasn't  meant  for,  and  endow  her  with  five 

181 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

thousand  dollars  a  year,  was  like  exposing  a  mermaid,  the 
glory  of  her  own  element,  by  pulling  her  from  the  water. 

He  grew  conscious  of  this,  as  he  always  did  the  minute 
they  touched  on  the  practical.  In  general  he  avoided  the 
practical  in  order  to  keep  within  the  range  of  topics  of 
which  his  love  was  not  afraid.  But  at  times  it  was  neces- 
sary to  speak  of  the  future,  and  when  they  did  the  poor 
mermaid  showed  her  fins  and  tail.  She  could  neither 
walk  nor  dance  nor  fly;  she  could  only  flounder.  There 
was  no  denying  the  fact  that  poor  little  Rosie  floundered. 
She  floundered  because  she  was  obliged  to  deal  with  life 
on  a  scale  of  which  she  had  no  experience,  but  as  to  which 
Claude  had  keenly  developed  social  sensibilities.  Not  that 
she  was  pretentious;  she  was  only  what  he  called  pathetic, 
with  a  pathos  that  would  have  made  him  grieve  for  her  if 
he  hadn't  been  grieving  for  himself. 

He  had  asked  her  idea  of  their  married  life,  since  she 
had  again  expressed  her  inability  to  fall  in  with  his.  "Oh, 
Rosie,  let  us  go  and  live  in  Paris!"  he  had  exclaimed,  to 
which  she  had  replied,  as  she  had  replied  so  many  times 
already:  "Claude,  darling,  how  can  I?  How  can  I  leave 
them,  when  they've  no  one  else?" 

"Then  if  we  get  married,  what  do  you  propose  that 
we  should  do?" 

He  had  never  come  to  anything  so  bluntly  definite 
before.  With  that  common  sense  of  hers  which  was 
always  looking  for  openings  that  would  lead  to  common- 
sense  results,  Rosie  took  it  as  an  opportunity.  She  showed 
that  she  had  given  some  attention  to  the  matter,  though 
she  expressed  herself  with  hesitation.  They  were  sitting 
in  the  most  embowered  recess  the  hothouse  could  afford 
— in  a  little  shrine  she  kept  free,  yet  secret,  for  the  purpose 
of  their  meetings.  She  let  him  hold  both  her  hands, 
though  her  face  and  most  of  her  person  were  averted  from 
him  as  she  spoke.  She  spoke  with  an  anxiety  to  let  him 
see  that  in  marrying  her  he  wouldn't  be  letting  himself 
down  too  low. 

182 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"There's  that  little  house  in  Schoolhouse  Lane,"  she 
faltered.    "The  Lippitts  used  to  live  in  it." 
"Well?" 

"If  we  lived  there,  I  could  manage — with  a  girl."  She 
brought  out  the  subordinate  clause  with  some  confusion, 
for  the  keeping  of  "a  girl"  was  an  ambition  to  which  it 
was  not  quite  easy  to  aspire.  She  thought  it  best,  how- 
ever, to  be  bold,  and  stammered  on,  "We  could  get  one  for 
about  four  a  week." 
He  let  her  go  on. 

"And  if  we  lived  in  the  Lippitt  house  I  could  slip  across 
our  own  yard,  and  across  Mrs.  Willert's  yard — she 
wouldn't  mind!  —  and  keep  an  eye  on  things  here. 
Mother's  ever  so  much  better.  She's  taking  hold 
again — " 

"Then  why  couldn't  we  go  and  settle  in  Paris?" 
" Because— don't  you  see,  Claude? — that's  not  the  only 
thing.  There's  father  and  Matt  and  the  business.  I 
must  be  on  hand  to — to  prop  them  up.  If  I  were  to  go, 
everything  would  come  down  with  a  crash — even  if  your 
father  didn't  make  any  more  trouble  about  the  lease. 
I  suppose  if  we  were  married  he  wouldn't  do  that?" 

Though  he  kept  silence,  his  nervous,  fastidious,  super- 
fine soul  was  screaming.  Why  couldn't  he  have  been 
allowed  to  keep  the  poignant  joy  of  touching  her,  of 
breathing  her  acrid,  earthy  atmosphere,  of  kissing  her 
lips  and  her  eyelids,  to  himself?  It  was  an  intoxication — 
but  no  one  wanted  intoxication  all  the  time.  It  was 
curious  that  a  life  in  this  delirious  state  should  be  forced 
on  him  by  the  brother  who  wished  him  well.  It  was  still 
more  curious  that  he  should  feel  obliged  to  force  it  on 
himself  in  order  not  to  be  a  cad. 

He  didn't  despise  Rosie  for  the  poverty  of  her  ideals. 
On  the  contrary,  her  ideals  were  exactly  suited  to  the  little 
rustic  thing  she  was.  If  he  could  have  been  Strephon  to 
her  Chloe  it  would  have  been  perfect.  But  he  couldn't  be 
Strephon;  he  could  be  nothing  but  a  neurotic  twentieth- 

183 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

century  youth,  sensitive  to  such  amenities  and  refinements 
as  he  had,  and  eager  to  get  more.  He  was  the  type  to  go 
sporting  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade — but  the  shade  was 
what  made  the  exercise  enchanting. 

His  obscure  rebellion  against  the  power  that  forced  him 
to  drag  his  love  out  into  the  light  impelled  him  to  say, 
without  quite  knowing  why,  "  Did  Thor  ever  speak  of  you 
and  me  being  married  ?" 

Because  he  was  pressing  her  to  him  so  closely  he  felt 
the  shudder  that  ran  through  her  frame.  It  seemed  to 
run  through  his  own  as  he  waited  for  her  reply. 

"No." 

Rosie  never  told  a  lie  unless  she  thought  she  was  obliged 
to.  She  thought  it  now  because  of  Claude's  jealousy. 
She  had  seen  flashes  of  it  more  than  once,  and  always  at 
some  mention  of  his  brother.  She  was  terror-stricken  as 
she  felt  his  arm  relax  its  embrace — terror-stricken  lest 
Thor  should  have  already  given  the  information  that 
would  prove  she  was  lying.  She  asked,  trembling,  "Did 
he  ever  say  he  had?" 

"Do  you  think  he'd  say  it,  if  he  hadn't?" 

"N-no;  I  don't  suppose  so." 

"Then  why  should  you  ask  me  that?" 

She  surprised  him  by  bursting  into  tears.  "  Oh,  Claude, 
don't  be  cross  with  me.  Don't  say  what  you  said  the 
last  time  you  were  cross — that  you'd  go  away  and  never 
come  back  again.  If  you  did  that  I  should  die.  I 
couldn't  live.     I  should  kill  myself." 

There  followed  one  of  the  scenes  of  soothing  in  which 
Claude  was  specially  adept,  and  which  he  specially  en- 
joyed. The  pleasure  was  so  exquisite  that  he  prolonged 
it,  so  that  by  the  time  he  emerged  from  the  hothouse 
Jasper  Fay  was  standing  in  the  yard. 

As  the  old  man's  back  was  turned,  Claude  endeavored  to 
slip  by,  unobserved  and  silent.  He  succeeded  in  the 
silence,  but  not  in  being  unobserved.  Glancing  over  his 
shoulder,  he  saw  the  dim  figure  dogging  him  as  it  had 

184 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

dogged  him  on  a  former  occasion,  with  the  bizarre,  sinistei 
suggestion  of  a  beast  about  to  spring. 

Claude  could  afford  to  smile  at  so  absurd  an  idea  in 
connection  with  poor  old  Fay,  but  his  nerves  were  shaken 
by  certain  passionate,  desperate  utterances  he  had  just 
heard  from  Rosie.  She  was  in  general  so  prudent,  so  self- 
controlled,  that  he  had  hardly  expected  to  see  her  give 
way  either  in  weeping  or  in  words.  She  had  broken  down 
in  both  respects,  while  his  nature  was  so  responsive  that 
he  felt  as  if  he  had  broken  down  himself.  In  the  way  of 
emotions  it  had  been  delicious,  wonderful.  It  was  a 
revelation  of  the  degree  to  which  the  little  creature  loved 
him.  It  was  a  sensation  in  itself  to  be  loved  like  that.  It 
struck  him  as  a  strange,  new  discovery  that  in  such  a  love 
there  was  a  value  not  to  be  reckoned  by  money  or 
measured  by  social  refinements.  New,  strange  harmo- 
nies swept  through  the  aeolian  harp  of  his  being — har- 
monies both  tragic  and  exultant  by  which  he  felt  himself 
subdued.  It  came  to  him  conclusively  that  if  in  marrying 
Rosie  there  would  be  many  things  to  forego,  there  would 
at  least  be  compensation. 

And  yet  he  shivered  at  the  stealthy  creeping  behind 
him  of  the  shadowy  old  man,  by  whom  he  felt  instinctively 
that  he  was  hated. 

13 


CHAPTER  XX 

CLAUDE  found  it  a  vivid  and  curious  contrast  to 
dine  that  evening  with  the  Darlings  and  their  so- 
phisticated friends.  The  friends  were  even  more  sophis- 
ticated than  Claude  himself,  since  they  had  more  money, 
had  traveled  more,  and  in  general  lived  in  a  broader  world. 
But  Claude  knew  that  it  was  in  him  to  reach  their  stand- 
ards and  go  beyond  them.  All  he  needed  was  the  op- 
portunity; and  opportunity  to  a  handsome  young  Amer- 
ican of  good  antecedents  like  himself  is  rarely  wanting. 
He  never  took  in  that  fact  so  clearly  as  on  this  night. 

He  was  glad  that  he  had  not  been  placed  next  to  Elsie 
at  table,  for  the  reason  that  he  felt  some  treachery  to  Rosie 
in  his  being  there  at  all.  Conversely,  in  the  light  of  Thor's 
judgment,  he  felt  some  treachery  to  Elsie  that  he  should 
come  to  her  with  Rosie's  kisses  on  his  lips.  Not  that  he 
owed  her  any  explanations — from  one  point  of  view. 
Considering  the  broad  latitude  of  approach  and  with- 
drawal allowed  to  American  young  people,  and  the 
possibility  of  playing  fast  and  loose  with  some  amount  of 
mutual  comprehension,  he  owed  her  no  explanations  what- 
ever; but  the  fact  remained  that  she  was  expressing  a 
measure  of  willingness  to  be  Juliet  to  his  Romeo  in  braving 
the  mute  antagonism  that  existed  between  their  respective 
families.  As  far  as  that  went,  he  knew  he  was  unwelcome 
to  the  Darlings;  but  he  knew,  too,  that  Elsie's  favor 
carried  over  her  parents'  heads  the  point  of  his  coming  and 
going.  It  was  conceivable  that  she  might  carry  over  their 
heads  a  point  more  important  still  if  he  were  to  urge  her. 

To  the  Claude  who  was  it  seemed  lamentable  that  he 

186 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

couldn't  urge  her;  but  to  the  Claude  who  might  be  there 
were  higher  things  than  the  gratification  of  fastidious 
social  tastes,  and  for  the  moment  that  Claude  had  some 
hope  of  the  ascendant.  It  was  that  Claude  who  spoke 
when,  after  dinner,  the  men  had  rejoined  the  ladies. 

"Your  mother  doesn't  like  my  coming  here." 

Elsie  threw  him  one  of  her  frank,  flying  glances.  "Well, 
she's  asked  you,  hasn't  she?" 

He  smiled.  "She  only  asked  me  at  the  last  minute. 
I  can  see  some  other  fellow  must  have  dropped  out." 

"You  can  see  it  because  it's  a  dinner-party  of  elderly 
people  to  which  you  naturally  wouldn't  be  invited  unless 
there  had  been  the  place  to  fill.  That  constantly  happens 
when  people  entertain  as  much  as  we  do.  But  it  isn't 
a  slight  to  be  asked  to  come  to  the  rescue.  It's  a  com- 
pliment. You  never  ask  people  to  do  that  unless  you 
count  them  as  real  friends." 

He  insisted  on  his  point.  "I  don't  suppose  it  was  her 
idea." 

"You  mean  it  was  mine;  but  even  if  it  was,  it  comes  to 
the  same  thing.  She  asked  you.  She  needn't  have  done 
it." 

He  still  insisted.  "She  did  it,  but  she  didn't  want  to." 
He  added,  lowering  his  voice  significantly,  "And  she  was 
right." 

He  forced  himself  to  return  her  gaze,  which  rested  on 
him  with  unabashed  inquiry.  Everything  about  her  was 
unabashed.  She  was  free  from  the  conventional  manners 
of  maidendom,  not  as  one  who  has  been  emancipated  from 
them,  but  as  one  who  has  never  had  them.  She  might 
have  belonged  to  a  generation  that  had  outgrown  the 
need  for  them,  as  perhaps  she  did.  Shyness,  coyness,  and 
emphasized  reserve  formed  no  part  of  her  equipment; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  was  clear — clear  with  a  kind 
of  crystalline  clearness,  in  eyes,  in  complexion,  and  in  the 
staccato  quality  of  her  voice. 

"She's  right— how?" 

187 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Right — because  I  oughtn't  to  come.  I'm — I'm  not 
free  to  come." 

"Do  you  mean — ?"  She  paused,  not  because  she  was 
embarrassed,  but  only  to  find  the  right  words.  She  kept 
her  eyes  on  his  with  a  candor  he  could  do  nothing  but 
reciprocate.  "Do  you  mean  that  you're  bound — else- 
where?" 

He  nodded.     "That's  it." 

"Oh!"  She  withdrew  her  eyes  at  last,  letting  her  gaze 
wander  vaguely  over  the  music-room,  about  which  the 
other  guests  were  seated.  They  were  lined  on  gilded 
settees  against  the  white  French-paneled  walls,  while  a 
young  man  played  Chopin's  Ballade  in  A  flat  on  a  grand 
piano  in  the  far  corner.  Not  being  in  the  music-room 
itself,  but  in  the  large,  square  hall  outside,  the  two  young 
people  could  talk  in  low  tones  without  disturbing  the 
company.  If  she  betrayed  emotion  it  was  only  in  the 
nervousness  with  which  she  tapped  her  closed  fan  against 
the  palm  of  her  left  hand.  Her  eyes  came  back  to  his 
face.     "I'm  glad  you've  told  me." 

He  took  a  virtuous  tone.  "I  think  those  things  ought 
to  be — to  be  open  and  aboveboard." 

"Oh,  of  course.  The  wonder  is  that  I  shouldn't  have 
heard  it.     One  generally  does." 

"Oh,  well,  you  wouldn't  in  this  case." 

"Isn't  it  anybody — about  here?" 

"It's  some  one  about  here,  but  not  any  one  you  would 
have  heard  of.  She  lives  in  our  village.  She's  the  daugh- 
ter of  a — well,  of  a  market-gardener." 

"How  interesting!  And  you're  in  love  with  her?" 
But  because  of  what  she  saw  in  his  face  she  went  on 
quickly:  "No;  I  won't  ask  you  that.  Don't  answer. 
Of  course  you're  in  love  with  her.  /  think  it's  splendid — 
a  man  with  your" — chances  was  the  word  that  suggested 
itself,  but  she  made  it  future — "a  man  with  your  future 
to  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  like  that." 

There  was  a  bright  glow  in  her  face  to  which  he  tried 

188 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

to  respond.  He  said  that  which,  owing  to  its  implica- 
tions, he  could  not  have  said  to  any  other  girl  in  the 
world,  but  could  say  to  her  because  of  her  twentieth- 
century  freedom  from  the  artificial.  "Now  you  see  why 
I  shouldn't  come." 

She  gave  a  little  assenting  nod.  "Yes;  perhaps  you'd 
better  not — for  a  while — not  quite  so  often,  at  any  rate. 
By  and  by,  I  dare  say,  we  shall  get  everything  on  another 
— another  basis — and  then — " 

She  rose,  so  that  he  followed  her  example;  but  he  shook 
his  head.  "No,  we  sha'n't.  There  won't  be  any  other 
basis." 

She  took  this  with  her  usual  sincerity.  "Well,  perhaps 
not.  I  don't  suppose  we  can  really  tell  yet.  We  must 
just — see.  When  he  stops,"  she  added,  with  scarcely  a 
change  of  tone,  as  she  moved  away  from  him,  "do  go  over 
and  talk  to  Mrs.  Boyce.  She  likes  attentions  from  young 
men." 

What  Claude  chiefly  retained  of  his  brief  conversation 
was  the  approval  in  the  words,  "I  think  it's  splendid." 
He  thought  it  splendid  himself.  He  felt  positive  now 
that  if  he  had  pressed  his  suit — if  he  had  been  free  to  press 
it — he  might  one  day  have  been  treading  this  polished 
floor  not  as  guest,  but  as  master.  There  were  no  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  that  couldn't  easily  be  overcome,  if  he 
and  Elsie  had  been  of  a  mind  to  do  it — and  she  would 
have  a  good  fifty  thousand  a  year!  Yes,  it  was  splendid; 
there  was  no  other  word  for  it.  He  was  giving  up  this 
brilliant  future  for  the  sake  of  little  Rosie  Fay — and 
counting  the  world  well  lost. 

The  sense  of  self -approval  was  so  strong  in  him  that  as 
he  traveled  homeward  he  felt  the  great  moment  to  have 
come.  He  must  keep  his  word ;  he  must  be  a  gentleman. 
He  was  flattered  by  the  glimpse  he  had  got  of  Elsie 
Darling's  heart;  and  yet  the  fact  that  she  might  have  come 
to  love  him  acted  on  him  as  an  incentive,  rather  than  the 

189 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

contrary,  to  carrying  out  his  plans.  She  would  see  him  in 
a  finer,  nobler  light.  As  long  as  she  lived,  and  even  when 
she  had  married  some  one  else,  she  would  keep  her  dream 
of  him  as  the  magnificently  romantic  chap  who  could 
love  a  village  maid  and  be  true  to  her. 

And  he  did  love  a  village  maid!  He  knew  that  now  by 
certain  infallible  signs.  He  knew  it  by  the  very  meager- 
ness  of  his  regret  in  giving  up  Elsie  Darling  and  all  that 
the  winning  of  her  would  have  implied.  He  knew  it  by 
the  way  he  thrilled  when  he  thought  of  Rosie's  body 
trembling  against  his,  as  it  had  trembled  that  afternoon. 
He  knew  it  by  the  wild  tingle  of  his  nerves  when  she 
shuddered  at  the  name  of  Thor.  That  is,  he  thought 
she  had  shuddered;  but  of  course  she  hadn't !  What  had 
she  to  shudder  at?  He  was  brought  up  against  that 
question  every  time  the  unreasoning  fear  of  Thor  pos- 
sessed him.  He  knew  the  fear  to  be  unreasoning.  How- 
ever possible  it  might  be  to  suspect  Rosie — and  a  man 
was  always  ready  to  suspect  the  woman  he  loved! — to 
suspect  Thor  was  absurd.  If  in  the  matter  of  Rosie's 
dowry  Thor  was  "acting  queerly,"  there  was  an  explana- 
tion of  that  queerness  which  would  do  him  credit.  Of 
that  no  one  who  knew  Thor  could  have  any  question  and 
at  the  same  time  keep  his  common  sense.  Claude 
couldn't  deny  that  he  was  jealous;  but  when  he  came  to 
analyze  his  passion  in  that  respect  he  found  it  nothing  but 
a  dread  lest  his  own  supineness  might  allow  Rosie  to  be 
snatched  away  from  him.  He  had  been  dilly-dallying 
over  what  he  should  have  clinched.  He  had  been  afraid 
of  the  sacrifice  he  would  be  compelled  to  make,  without 
realizing,  as  he  realized  to-night,  that  Rosie  would  be 
worth  it.  No  later  than  to-morrow  he  would  buy  a  license 
and  a  wedding-ring,  and,  if  possible,  marry  her  in  the 
evening.  Before  the  fact  accomplished  difficulties — and 
God  knew  there  were  a  lot  of  them ! — would  smooth  them- 
selves away. 

As  he  left  the  tram-car  at  the  village  terminus  he  was 

190 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

too  excited  to  go  home  at  once,  so  he  passed  his  own  gate 
and  went  on  toward  Thor's.  It  was  not  yet  late.  He 
could  hear  Thor's  voice  reading  aloud  as  the  maid  ad- 
mitted him,  and  could  follow  the  words  while  he  took  off 
his  overcoat  and  silk  hat  and  laid  them  carefully  on  one  of 
the  tapestried  chairs.  He  still  followed  them  as  he 
straightened  his  cravat  before  the  glass,  pulled  down  his 
white  waistcoat,  and  smoothed  his  hair. 

"Christ's  mission,  therefore,'"  Thor  read  on,  "'was 
not  to  relieve  poverty,  but  to  do  away  with  it.  It  was  to 
do  away  with  it  not  by  abolition,  but  by  evolution.  It  is 
clear  that  to  Christ  poverty  was  not  a  disease,  but  a 
symptom — a  symptom  of  a  sick  body  politic.  To  suppress 
the  symptom  without  undertaking  the  cure  of  the  whole 
body  would  have  been  false  to  the  thoroughness  of  His 
methods.'" 

Claude  appeared  on  the  threshold.  Lois  smiled.  Thor 
looked  up. 

"Hello,  Claude!  Come  in.  Just  wait  a  minute. 
Reading  Vibart's  Christ  and  Poverty.  Only  a  few  lines 
more  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  'To  the  teaching  of 
Christ,"  Thor  continued,  '"belongs  the  discovery  that 
the  causes  of  poverty  are  economic  only  in  the  second 
place,  and  moral  in  the  first.  Economic  conditions  are 
shifting,  changing  vitally  within  the  space  of  a  generation. 
Nothing  is  permanent  but  the  moral,  as  nothing  is  effec- 
tual. Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy 
heart  and  with  all  thy  soul  and  with  all  thy  mind,  and  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself;  on  these  two  commandments  hang 
all  the  law  and  the  prophets.  On  these  two  command- 
ments hangs  also  the  solution  of  the  problems  of  poverty, 
seeing  that  a  race  that  obeys  them  finds  no  such  problems 
confronting  it.  In  proportion  to  the  spread  of  moral 
obedience  these  problems  tend  to  disappear.  They  were 
never  so  near  to  disappearing  as  now,  when  the  moral 
sense  has  become  alive  to  them.'" 

Claude  smoked  a  cigar  while  they  sat  and  talked.     It 

191 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

was  talk  in  which  he  personally  took  little  share,  but  from 
which  he  sought  to  learn  whether  or  not  Thor  was  satisfied 
with  what  he  had  done.  If  there  was  any  arrikre  pensee, 
he  thought  he  might  detect  it  by  looking  on.  It  was  a 
pleasant  scene,  Lois  with  her  sewing,  Thor  with  his  book. 
The  library  had  the  characteristic  of  American  libraries 
in  general,  of  being  the  most  cheerful  room  in  the  house. 

"What  I  complain  of  in  all  this,"  Thor  said,  tossing 
the  book  on  the  table,  "is  the  intermediary  suffering.  It 
does  no  good  to  the  starving  of  to-day  to  know  that  in 
another  thousand  years  men  will  have  so  grasped  the 
principles  of  Christ  that  want  will  be  abolished." 

Lois  smiled  over  her  sewing.  "You  might  as  well  say 
that  it  does  no  good  to  the  people  who  have  to  walk  to-day, 
or  travel  by  trains  and  motors,  to  know  that  in  a  hundred 
years  the  common  method  of  getting  about  will  probably 
be  by  flying.  This  writer  lays  it  down  as  a  principle  that 
there's  a  rate  for  human  progress,  and  that  it's  no  use 
expecting  man  to  get  on  faster  than  he  has  the  power  to 
go." 

"I  don't  expect  him  to  get  on  faster  than  he  has  the 
power  to  go.  I  only  want  him  to  go  faster  than  he's 
going." 

"Haven't  you  seen  others,  who  wanted  the  same  thing, 
dragging  people  off  their  feet,  with  the  result  that  legs  or 
necks  were  broken?" 

"That's  absurd,  of  course;  but  between  that  and 
quickening  the  stride  there's  a  difference." 

"Exactly;  which  is  what  Vibart  says.  His  whole 
argument  is  that  if  you  want  to  do  away  with  poverty 
you  must  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  neither  in  the  middle 
nor  at  the  end.  People  used  to  begin  at  the  end  when  they 
imagined  the  difficulty  to  be  met  by  temporarily  supply- 
ing wants.  Now  they're  beginning  in  the  middle  by  look- 
ing for  social  and  economic  readjustments  which  won't  be 
effective  for  more  than  a  few  years  at  a  time.  To  begin 
at  the  beginning,  as  I  understand  him  to  say,  they  must 

192 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

get  at  themselves  with  a  new  point  of  view,  and  a  new  line 
of  action  toward  one  another.  They  must  try  the  Chris- 
tian method  which  they  never  have  tried,  or  put  up  with 
poverty  and  other  inequalities.  It's  futile  to  expect  to 
do  away  with  them  by  the  means  they're  using  now;  and 
that,"  she  added,  in  defense  of  the  author  she  was  en- 
deavoring to  sum  up,  "seems  to  me  perfectly  true." 

Without  following  the  line  of  argument,  in  which  he  took 
no  interest,  Claude  spoke  out  of  his  knowledge  of  his 
brother.  "Trouble  with  Thor  is  that  he's  in  too  much 
of  a  hurry.     Won't  let  anything  take  its  own  pace." 

This  was  so  like  a  paraphrase  in  Claude's  language  of 
Uncle  Sim's  pietistic  ditty  that  Thor  winced.  "Take  its 
own  pace — and  stop  still,"  he  said,  scornfully. 

"And  then,"  Lois  resumed,  tranquilly,  "you've  got  to 
remember  that  Vibart  has  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  historical 
line  of  argument.  The  evolution  of  the  human  race  isn't 
merely  a  matter  of  following  out  certain  principles;  it 
depends  on  the  degree  of  its  conscious  association  with 
divine  energy.  Isn't  that  what  he  says?  The  closer  the 
association  the  faster  the  progress.  Where  there's  no 
such  association  progress  is  clogged  or  stopped.  You 
remember,  Thor.  It's  in  the  chapter,  'Fellow-workers 
with  God.'" 

"I  couldn't  make  it  out,"  Thor  said,  with  some  im- 
patience. " '  Fellow-workers  with  God !'  I  don't  see  what 
that  means." 

"Then,  until  you  do  see — " 

Apparently  she  thought  better  of  what  she  was  about  to 
say,  and  suppressed  it.  The  conversation  drifted  to 
cognate  subjects,  while  Claude  became  merely  an  ob- 
server. He  wanted  to  be  perfectly  convinced  that  Thor 
was  happy.  That  Lois  was  happy  he  could  see.  Happi- 
ness was  apparent  in  every  look  and  line  of  her  features 
and  every  movement  of  her  person.  She  was  like  another 
woman.  All  that  used  to  seem  wistful  in  her  and  unful- 
filled had  resolved  itself  into  radiant  contentment.     Ac- 

193 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

cording  to  Claude,  you  could  see  it  with  half  an  eye. 
She  had  gained  in  authority  and  looks,  while  she  had 
developed  a  power  of  holding  her  own  against  her  husband 
that  would  probably  do  him  good. 

As  to  Thor  he  was  less  sure.  He  looked  older  than  one 
might  have  expected  him  to  look.  There  was  an  expres- 
sion in  his  face  that  was  hardly  to  be  explained  by  marriage 
and  a  two  months'  visit  to  Europe.  Claude  was  not 
analytical,  but  he  found  himself  saying,  "Looks  like  a 
chap  who'd  been  through  something.  What?"  Being 
"through  something"  meant  more  than  the  experience 
incidental  to  a  wedding  and  a  honeymoon.  With  that 
thought  torture  began  to  gnaw  at  Claude's  soul  again,  so 
that  when  his  brother  was  called  to  the  telephone  to 
answer  a  lady  who  was  asking  what  her  little  boy  should 
take  for  a  certain  pain,  he  sprang  the  question  on  Lois: 

"What  do  you  really  think  of  Thor?  You  don't  sup- 
pose he  has  anything  on  his  mind,  do  you?" 

Lois  was  startled.     "  Do  you  ?" 

"I  asked  first." 

"Well,  what  made  you?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Two  or  three  things.  I  just  won- 
dered if  you'd  noticed  it." 

Her  face  clouded.  "I  haven't  noticed  that  he  had 
anything  on  his  mind.  I  knew  already — he  told  me  before 
we  were  married — that  there  was  something  about  which 
he  wasn't — wasn't  quite  happy.  I  dare  say  you  know 
what  it  is — " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  you?  Well,  neither  do  I.  He  may  tell  me 
some  day;  and  till  then —  But  I've  thought  he  was 
better  lately — more  cheerful." 

"Hasn't  he  been  cheerful?" 

"Oh   yes  —  quite  —  as  a    rule.     But    of   course   I've 


seen — " 


They  were  interrupted  by  Thor's  return,  after  which 
Claude  took  his  departure. 

194 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

He  woke  in  the  morning  with  a  frenzy  that  astonished 
himself  to  put  into  execution  what  he  had  resolved. 
With  his  nervous  volatility  he  had  half  expected  to  feel 
less  intensely  on  the  subject  after  having  slept  on  it; 
but  everything  that  could  be  called  desire  in  his  nature  had 
focused  itself  now  into  the  passion  to  make  Rosie  his  own. 
That  first! — and  all  else  afterward.  That  first! — but  he 
could  neither  see  beyond  it  nor  did  he  want  to  see. 

The  excitement  he  had  been  tempted  to  ascribe  on  the 
previous  evening  to  his  talk  with  Elsie  Darling,  and  per- 
haps in  some  degree  to  a  glass  or  two  of  champagne, 
having  become  intensified,  it  was  a  proof  of  its  being  "the 
real  thing."  He  was  sure  now  that  it  was  not  only  the 
real  thing,  but  that  it  would  be  lasting.  This  was  no 
spasmodic  breeze  through  his  aeolian  harp,  but  the  breath 
and  life  of  his  being.  He  came  to  this  conclusion  as  he 
packed  a  bag  that  he  could  send  for  toward  evening,  and 
made  a  few  other  preparations  for  a  temporary  absence 
from  his  father's  house.  Putting  one  thing  with  another, 
he  had  reason  to  feel  sure  that  he  and  Rosie  would  be 
back  there  together  before  long,  forgiven  and  received, 
so  that  he  was  relieved  of  the  necessity  of  taking  a  farewell. 

"I  think  it's  splendid,"  rang  in  his  heart  like  a  cheer. 
Any  one  would  think  it  splendid  who  knew  what  he  was 
going  to  do — and  what  he  was  renouncing ! 

It  was  annoying  that  on  reaching  the  spot  where  he  took 
the  electric  car  to  go  to  town  old  Jasper  Fay  should  be 
waiting  there.  It  was  still  more  annoying  that  among  the 
other  intending  passengers  there  should  be  no  one  whom 
Claude  knew.  To  drop  into  conversation  with  a  friend 
would  have  kept  Fay  at  a  distance.  Just  now  his  appear- 
ance— neat,  shabby,  pathetic,  the  superior  workingman  in 
his  long-preserved,  threadbare  Sunday  clothes — intro- 
duced disturbing  notes  into  the  swelling  hymeneal  chant 
to  which  Claude  felt  himself  to  be  marching.  There  were 
practical  reasons,  too,  why  he  should  have  preferred  to  hold 
no  intercourse  with  Fay  till  after  he  had  crossed  his 

i95 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

Rubicon.  He  nodded  absently,  therefore,  and,  passing  to 
the  far  end  of  the  little  straggling  line,  prayed  that  the  car 
would  quicken  its  speed  in  coming. 

Through  the  tail  of  his  eye  he  could  see  Fay  detach  him- 
self from  the  patient  group  of  watchers  and  shamble  in  his 
direction.  "What's  it  to  be  now?"  Claude  said  to  him- 
self, but  he  stood  his  ground.  He  stood  his  ground  without 
turning,  or  recognizing  Fay's  approach.  He  leaned  non- 
chalantly on  his  stick,  looking  wearily  up  the  line  for 
rescue,  till  he  heard  a  nervous  cough.  The  nervous  cough 
was  followed  by  the  words,  huskily  spoken: 

"Mr.  Claude!" 

He  was  obliged  to  look  around.  There  was  something 
about  Fay  that  was  at  once  mild  and  hostile,  truculent  and 
apologetic.  He  spoke  respectfully,  and  yet  with  a  kind 
of  anger  in  the  gleam  of  his  starry  eyes. 

"Mr.  Claude,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  hang  round  my  place 
any  more.  It  don't  do  any  one  any  good."  Claude  was 
weighing  the  advantages  of  avowing  himself  plainly  on 
the  spot,  when  Fay  went  on,  "One  experience  of  that 
kind  has  been  about  enough — in  one  year." 

Claude's  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating.  "One  experi- 
ence of  what  kind?" 

"You're  all  Mastermans  together,"  Fay  declared, 
bitterly.  "I  don't  trust  any  of  you.  You're  both  your 
father's  sons." 

"By  God!  I've  got  at  it!"  Claude  cried  to  himself. 
Aloud  he  said,  with  no  display  of  emotion.  "I  don't  un- 
derstand you.     I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

Fay  merely  repeated,  hoarsely,  "I  don't  want  either  of 
you  coming  any  more." 

Claude  took  a  tone  he  considered  crafty.  "Oh,  come 
now,  Mr.  Fay.  Even  if  you  don't  want  me,  I  shouldn't 
think  you'd  object  to  my  brother  Thor." 

"Your  brother  Thor!    You've  a  nice  brother  Thor!" 

"Why,  what's  he  done?" 

"Ask  my  little  girl.    No,  you  needn't  ask  her.    She 

196 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

wouldn't  tell  you.  She  won't  tell  me.  All  I  know  is 
what  I've  seen." 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  decencies  and  the  people 
standing  by,  Claude  could  have  sprung  on  the  old  man 
and  clutched  his  throat.  All  he  could  do,  however, 
was  to  say,  peacefully,  "And  what  have  you  seen?" 

Fay  looked  around  to  assure  himself  that  no  one  was 
within  earshot.  The  car  was  bearing  down  on  them  with 
a  crashing  buzz,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  speak  rapidly. 
"I've  seen  him  creep  into  my  hothouse  where  my  little  girl 
was  at  work,  under  cover  of  the  night,  and  I've  seen  him 
steal  away.  And  when  I've  looked  in  after  he  was  gone 
she  was  crying  fit  to  kill  herself." 

"What  made  you  wait  till  he  went  away?"  Claude 
asked,  fiercely.  "Why  didn't  you  go  in  after  him  and  see 
what  they  were  up  to?" 

The  old  man's  face  expressed  the  helplessness  of  the 
average  American  parent  in  conflict  with  a  child.  "Oh, 
she  wouldn't  let  me.  She  won't  have  none  of  my  inter- 
ference. She  says  she  knows  what  she's  about.  But  I 
don't  know  what  you're  about,  Mr.  Claude;  and  so  I'm 
beggin'  you  to  keep  away.  No  good  '11  come  of  your 
actions.     I  don't  trust  any  Masterman  that  lives." 

The  car  had  stopped  and  emptied  itself.  The  people 
were  getting  in.  Fay  climbed  the  high  steps  laboriously, 
dropping  a  five-cent  piece  into  a  slot  as  he  rounded  a 
little  barrier.  Claude  sprang  up  after  him,  dropping  in  a 
similar  piece  of  money.  Its  tinkle  as  it  fell  shivered 
through  his  nerves  with  the  excruciating  sharpness  of  a 
knife-thrust. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CLAUDE  went  on  to  the  office  as  a  matter  of  routine, 
but  when  his  father  appeared  he  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  go  home  again.  "  I'm  not  well,  father,"  he  complained, 
his  pallor  bearing  out  his  statement. 

Masterman's  expression  was  compassionate.  He  was 
very  gentle  with  his  son  since  the  latter  had  been  going  so 
often  to  the  Darlings'.  "All  right,  my  boy.  Do  go 
home.  Better  drop  in  on  Thor.  Give  you  something  to 
put  you  to  rights." 

But  Claude  didn't  drop  in  on  Thor.  He  climbed  the 
hill  north  of  the  pond,  taking  the  direction  with  which  he 
was  more  familiar  in  the  gloaming.  In  the  morning 
sunlight  he  hardly  recognized  his  surroundings,  nor  did 
he  know  where  to  look  for  Rosie  at  this  unusual  time  of 
day.  He  was  about  to  turn  into  the  conservatory  in 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  find  her,  when  an  Italian 
with  beady  eyes  and  a  knowing  grin,  who  was  raking  a 
bed  that  had  been  prepared  for  early  planting,  pointed 
to  the  last  hothouse  in  the  row.  Claude  loathed  the 
man  for  divining  what  he  wanted,  but  obeyed  him. 

It  was  a  cucumber-house.  That  is,  where  two  or  three 
months  earlier  there  had  been  lettuce  there  were  now 
cucumber-vines  running  on  lines  of  twine,  and  already  six 
feet  high.  It  was  like  going  into  a  vineyard,  but  a  vine- 
yard closer,  denser,  and  more  regular  than  any  that 
ever  grew  in  France.  Except  for  one  long,  straight  aisle 
no  wider  than  the  shoulders  of  a  man  it  was  like  a  solid 
mass  of  greenery,  thicker  than  a  jungle,  and  oppressive 
from  the  evenness  of  its  altitude.     Claude  felt  smothered, 

198 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE   ANGELS 

not  only  by  the  heat,  but  by  this  compact  luxuriance  that 
dwarfed  him,  and  which  was  climbing,  climbing  still.  It 
was  prodigious.  In  its  way  it  was  grotesque.  It  was  like 
something  grown  by  magic.  But  a  few  weeks  previous 
there  had  been  nothing  here  but  the  smooth  green  pave- 
ment of  cheerful  little  plants  that  at  a  distance  looked 
like  jade  or  malachite.  Now,  all  of  a  sudden,  as  it  were, 
there  was  this  forest  of  rank  verdure,  sprung  with  a  kind 
of  hideous  rapidity,  stifling,  overpowering,  productive 
with  a  teeming,  incredible  fecundity.  Low  down  near 
the  earth  the  full-grown  fruit,  green  with  the  faintest  tip 
of  gold,  hung  heavy,  indolent,  luscious,  derisively  cool 
to  touch  and  taste  in  this  semi-tropical  heat.  The 
gherkin  a  few  inches  above  it  defied  the  eye  to  detect  the 
swelling  and  lengthening  that  were  taking  place  as  a 
man  looked  on.  Tendrils  crept  and  curled  and  twisted 
and  interlocked  from  vine  to  vine  like  queer,  blind,  living 
things  feeling  after  one  another.  Pale  blossoms  of  the 
very  color  of  the  sunlight  made  the  sunlight  sunnier, 
while  bees  boomed  from  flower  to  flower,  bearing  the 
pollen  from  the  males,  shallow,  cuplike,  richly  stamened, 
to  the  females  growing  daintily  from  the  end  of  the 
embryo  cucumber  as  from  a  pinched,  wizened  stem. 

Advancing  a  few  paces  into  this  gigantic  vinery,  Claude 
found  the  one  main  aisle  intersected  by  numerous  cross- 
aisles  in  any  of  which  Rosie  might  be  working.  He 
pushed  his  way  slowly,  partly  because  the  warm  air 
heavy  with  pollen  made  him  faint,  and  partly  because 
this  close  pressure  of  facile,  triumphant  nature  had  on  his 
nerves  a  suggestion  of  the  menacing.  On  the  pathway 
of  soft,  dark  loam  his  steps  fell  noiselessly. 

When  he  came  upon  Rosie  she  was  buried  in  the  depths 
of  an  almost  imperceptible  cross-aisle  and  at  the  end  re- 
mote from  the  center.  As  her  back  was  toward  him  and 
she  had  not  heard  his  approach,  he  watched  her  for  a 
minute  in  silence.  His  quick  eye  noticed  that  she  wore  a 
blue-green  cotton  stuff,  with  leaf-green  belt  and  collar, 

199 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

that  made  her  the  living  element  of  her  background,  and 
that  her  movements  and  attitudes  were  of  the  kind  to 
display  the  exquisite  lines  of  her  body.  She  was  picking 
delicately  the  pale  little  blossoms  and  letting  them  flutter 
to  the  ground.  Her  way  was  strewn  with  the  frail 
yellow  things  already  beginning  to  wither  and  shrivel, 
adding  their  portion  of  earth  unto  earth,  to  be  transmuted 
to  life  unto  life  with  the  next  rotation  in  planting. 

"Rosie,  what  are  you  doing?" 

He  expected  her  to  be  startled,  but  he  was  not  prepared 
for  the  look  of  terror  with  which  she  turned.  He  couldn't 
know  the  degree  to  which  all  her  thoughts  were  con- 
centrated on  him,  nor  the  fears  by  which  each  of  her  wak- 
ing minutes  was  accompanied.  She  would  have  been 
startled  if  he  had  come  at  one  of  his  customary  hours 
toward  night;  but  it  was  as  death  in  her  heart  to  see  him 
like  this  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon.  The  emotion 
was  the  greater  on  both  sides  because  the  long,  narrow 
perspective  focused  the  eyes  of  each  on  the  face  of  the 
other,  with  no  possibility  of  misreading.  Claude  re- 
mained where  he  was.  Rosie  clung  for  support  to  the 
feeble  aid  of  the  nearest  vine. 

She  began  to  speak  rapidly,  not  because  she  thought 
he  wanted  his  question  answered,  but  because  it  gave  her 
something  to  say.  It  was  like  the  effort  to  keep  up  by 
splashing  about  before  going  down.  She  was  picking  off 
the  superfluous  female  flowers,  she  said,  in  order  that  the 
strength  of  the  plant  might  go  into  the  remaining  ones. 
One  had  to  do  that,  otherwise — 

He  broke  in  abruptly.  "Rosie,  why  did  you  tell  me 
Thor  never  said  anything  about  you  and  me  being  mar- 
ried?" 

"Oh,  what's  he  been  saying?"  She  clasped  her  hands 
on  her  breast,  with  a  sudden  beseeching  alarm. 

"It's  not  a  matter  of  what  he's  been  saying.  It's 
only  a  matter  of  what  you  say.  And  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  why  he's  paying  me  for  marrying  you." 

200 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

He  spoke  brutally  not  only  because  his  suffering  nerves 
made  him  brutally  inclined,  but  in  the  hope  of  wringing 
from  her  some  cry  of  indignation.     But  she  only  said: 

"I  didn't  know  he  was  doing  that." 

"But  you  knew  he  was  going  to  do  something." 

It  seemed  useless  to  poor  Rosie  to  keep  anything  back 
now;  she  could  only  injure  her  cause  by  hedging.  "I 
knew  he  was  going  to  do  something,  but  he  didn't  tell 
me  what  it  would  be." 

"And  why  should  he  do  anything  at  all?  What  had 
it  to  do  with  him?" 

She  wrung  her  hands.  "Oh,  Claude,  I  don't  know. 
He  came  to  me.  He  took  me — he  took  me  by  surprise.  I 
never  thought  of  anything  like  that.     I  never  dreamt  it." 

Claude  drew  a  bow  at  a  venture.  "You  mean  that 
you  never  thought  of  anything  like  that  when  he  said" — 
he  was  obliged  to  wet  his  lips  with  his  tongue  before  he 
could  get  the  words  out — "when  he  said  he  was  in  love 
with  you." 

She  nodded.  "And,  oh,  Claude,  I  didn't  mean  it.  I 
swear  to  you  I  didn't  mean  it.  I  knew  he'd  tell  you. 
I  was  always  afraid  of  him.  But  I  just  thought  it  then — 
just  for  a  minute.     I  couldn't  have  done  it — " 

He  had  but  the  dimmest  suspicion  of  what  she  meant, 
but  he  felt  it  well  to  say:  "You  could  have  done  it,  Rosie, 
and  you  would.     You're  that  kind." 

She  took  one  timid  step  toward  him,  clasping  her  hands 
more  passionately.  "Oh,  Claude,  have  mercy  on  me. 
If  you  knew  what  it  is  to  be  me!  Even  if  I  had  done  it, 
it  wouldn't  have  been  because  I  loved  you  any  the  less. 
It  would  have  been  for  father  and  mother  and  Matt — 
and — and  everything." 

The  way  in  which  the  words  rent  her  made  him  the 
more  cruel.  They  made  him  the  more  cruel  because  they 
rent  him,  too.  "That  doesn't  make  any  difference,  Rosie. 
You  would  have  done  it  just  the  same.  As  it  is,  you  were 
false  to  me — " 

14  201 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Only  that  once,  Claude!" 

"And  if  you  want  me  to  have  mercy  on  you,  you'll 
have  to  tell  me  everything  that  happened — the  very 
worst." 

"The  worst  that  happened  was  then." 

"Then?    When?     There  were  so  many  times." 

"But  the  other  times  he  didn't  say  anything  at  all. 
He  just  came.     I  never  dreamt — " 

"  But  if  you  had  dreamt,  you  would  have  played  another 
sort  of  hand.     Now,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Claude,  if  you  only  knew!  If  you  could  only  imagine 
what  it  is  to  have  nothing  at  all ! — to  have  to  live  and  fight 
and  scrimp  and  save ! — and  no  one  to  help  you ! — and  your 
brother  in  jail ! — and  coming  out ! — coming  out,  Claude ! — 
and  no  one  to  help  him! — and  everything  on  you — !" 

"That's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it,  Rosie — " 

"It  has  got  something  to  do  with  it.  It's  got  every- 
thing to  do  with  it.  If  it  hadn't,  do  you  think  that  I'd 
have  said  that  I'd  marry  him?" 

Claude  felt  like  a  man  who  knows  he's  been  shot,  but 
as  yet  is  unconscious  of  the  wound.  He  spoke  quietly: 
"  I  think  I  wouldn't  have  said  that  I'd  marry  two  men  at 
the  same  time,  and  play  one  off  against  the  other." 

There  was  exasperation  in  her  voice  as  she  cried:  "But 
how  could  I  help  it,  Claude?  Can't  you  see?  It  wasn't 
him." 

"Oh,  I  can  see  that  well  enough.  But  do  you  think 
it  makes  it  any  better?" 

"It  makes  it  better  if  I  never  would  have  done  it  unless 
I'd  been  obliged  to." 

"But  you'd  have  done  it — " 

"No,  Claude,  I  wouldn't — not  when  it  came  to  the 
point." 

"But  why  didn't  it  come  to  the  point?  Since  you  told 
him  you  were  willing  to  marry  him,  why — ?" 

She  implored  him.  "Oh,  what's  the  use  of  asking  me 
that,  if  he's  told  you  already?" 

202 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"It's  this  use,  Rosie,  that  I  want  to  hear  it  from  your- 
self.    You've  told  me  one  lie — " 

"Oh,  Claude!" 

"And  I  want  to  see  if  you'll  tell  me  any  more." 

"I  didn't  mean  it  to  be  a  He,  Claude;  but  what  could 
I  say?" 

"When  we  don't  mean  a  thing  to  be  a  lie,  Rosie,  we 
tell  the  truth." 

"But  how  could  I?" 

"Well,  perhaps  you  couldn't;  but  you  can  now.  You 
can  tell  me  just  what  happened — and  why  more  didn't 
happen,  since  you  were  willing  that  it  should." 

She  began  with  difficulty,  wringing  her  hands.  "It 
was  last  January — I  think  it  was  January — yes,  it  was — 
one  evening — I  was  in  the  other  hothouse  making  out 
bills — and  he  came  all  of  a  sudden — and  he  asked  me — he 
asked  me — " 

"Yes,  yes;  go  on." 

"He  asked  me  if  I  loved  you,  and  I  said  I  did.  And  he 
asked  me  how  much  I  loved  you,  and  I  said — I  said  I'd 
die  for  you — and  so  I  would,  Claude.  I'd  do  it  gladly. 
You  can  believe  me  or  not — " 

"That's  all  right.  What  I  want  to  know  is  what 
happened  after  that." 

"And  then  he  said  he'd  help  us.  I  didn't  understand 
how  he  meant  to  help  us — and  I  didn't  quite  believe  him. 
You  see,  Claude,  even  if  he  is  your  brother,  I  never  really 
liked  him — or  trusted  him — not  really.  There  was 
always  something  about  him  I  couldn't  make  out — and 
now  I  see  what  it  is.  I  knew  he'd  tell.  And  he  made  me 
promise  I  wouldn't." 

"He  made  you  promise  you  wouldn't  tell — what?" 

"What  he  said  to  me.  He  said  he  might  go  and  marry 
some  one  else — and  then  he  wouldn't  want  what  he  said 
to  me  to  be  known,  because  it  would  make  trouble." 

"But  what  did  he  say?" 

"Don't  you  know  what  he  said?" 

203 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  know  or  not,  Rosie.     It's 
for  you  to  tell  me." 

She  wrestled  with  herself.     "Oh,  Claude,  I  don't  want 
to.     I  wish  you  wouldn't  make  me." 

"Go  on,  Rosie;  go  on." 

"He  said  he  was  in  love  with  me  himself — and  that  if  I 
hadn't  been  in  love  with  you — " 

He  was  able  to  help  her  out.     "That  he'd  have  married 
you." 

She  nodded,  piteously. 

"And  you  said — ?" 

"Oh,  Claude,  what's  the  use?"  She  gathered  her  forces 
together.     '.'I  didn't  say  anything — not  then." 

"But  you  told  him  afterward  that  you  were  willing 
to  marry  him  whether  you  were  in  love  with  me  or  not." 

"No;  not  like  that.  I — I  really  didn't  say  anything 
at  all." 

"You  just  let  him  see  it." 

Again  she  nodded.  "  He  said  it  himself .  He  could  see 
— he  could  see  how  I  felt — that  it  was  like  a  temptation  to 
me — that  it  was  like  bread  and  water  held  out  to  a  starving 
man." 

"That  is,  that  the  money  was?" 

She  beat  one  hand  against  the  other  as  she  pressed 
them  against  her  breast.  "Don't  you  see?  It  had  to  be 
that  way.  I  couldn't  see  all  that  money  come  right — 
come  right  into  sight — and  not  wish — just  for  that  minute 
— that  I  could  have  it.     Could  I,  now?" 

"No;  I  don't  suppose  you  could,  Rosie — being  what  you 
are.     But,  you  see,  I  thought  you  were  something  else." 

"Oh  no,  Claude,  you  didn't.  You've  known  all 
along — " 

'You  mean,  I  thought  I  knew  all  along!  But  I  find  I 
didn't.  I  find  that  you're  only  willing  to  marry  me  be- 
cause Thor  wouldn't  take  you." 

"He  couldn't  take  me  after  I  said  I'd  die  for  you. 
How  could  he?" 

204 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"And  how  can  I — after  you've  said  you  were  willing — !" 
He  threw  out  his  arms  with  a  gesture.  "Oh,  Rosie.  what 
do  you  think  I  feel?" 

She  crept  a  little  nearer.  "I  should  think  you'd  feel 
pity,  Claude." 

"So  I  do — for  myself.  One's  always  sorry  for  a  fool. 
But  you  haven't  told  me  everything  yet.  You  haven't 
told  me  what  he  said  about  me." 

She  tried  to  recollect  herself.  "About  you,  Claude? 
Oh  yes.  He  asked  me  what  our  relation  was  to  each  other, 
and  I  said  I  didn't  know.  And  then  he  asked  me  if  you 
were  going  to  marry  me,  and  I  said  I  didn't  know  that, 
either.  And  then  he  said  not  to  be  afraid,  because — 
because — " 

"Because  he'd  make — " 


"No,  he  didn't  say  that.  I  asked  him  if  he'd  make 
you,  and  he  said  he  wouldn't  have  to,  because  you'd  do  it 
whether  or  no,  or  something  like  that — I  don't  just 
remember  what." 

"He  didn't  say  I'd  do  it  because  he'd  give  me  five 
thousand  dollars  a  year  for  the  job,  did  he?" 

She  shook  her  head.  She  began  to  look  dazed.  "No, 
Claude,  he  didn't  say  anything  like  that  at  all." 

"Well,  he  said  it  to  me.  And  he  was  going  to  do  it. 
He  thinks  he's  going  to  do  it  still." 

"And  isn't  he?" 

"No,  Rosie.  I've  got  better  fish  to  fry  than  that. 
If  I'm  for  sale  I  shall  go  high." 

"Oh,  Claude,  what  do  you  mean?  What  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  Rosie.  It'll  give  you  an  idea  of  the 
chap  I  am — of  what  I  was  willing  to  renounce  for  you. 
I  was  talking  to  a  girl  last  night  who  let  me  see  that  she 
was  all  ready  to  marry  me.  She  didn't  say  it  in  so  many 
words,  of  course;  but  that's  what  it  amounted  to.  She 
lives  in  a  big  house,  with  ten  or  twelve  servants,  and  is 
the  only  child  of  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  city.     She's 

205 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

what   you'd  call  an  heiress  —  and  she's  a  pretty  girl, 
too." 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  her,  Claude?" 

"I  told  her  I  couldn't.     I  told  her  about  you." 

"About  me?     Oh,  Claude!    And  what  did  she  say?" 

"She  said  it  was  splendid  for  a  chap  with  my  future  to 
fall  in  love  with  a  girl  like  you  and  be  true  to  her.  But, 
you  see,  Rosie,  I  thought  you  were  true  to  me." 

"Oh,  but  I  am,  Claude!" 

He  laughed.  "True?  Why,  Rosie,  you  don't  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word !  When  Thor  whistles  for  you — 
as  he  will — you'll  go  after  him  like  that."  He  snapped  his 
fingers.     "He'll  only  have  to  name  your  price." 

She  paid  no  attention  to  these  words,  nor  to  the  insult 
they  contained.  Her  arms  were  crossed  on  her  breast, 
her  face  was  turned  to  him  earnestly.  "Yes;  but  what 
about  this  other  girl,  Claude?" 

He  spoke  with  apparent  carelessness.  "Oh,  about 
her?"  He  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  door  at  the  end 
of  the  hothouse  and  of  the  world  that  lay  beyond  it. 
"I'm  going  to  marry  her." 

She  looked  puzzled.  Her  air  was  that  of  a  person  who 
had  never  heard  similar  words  before.  "You're  going  to 
—what?" 

"I'm  going  to  marry  her,  Rosie." 

For  a  few  seconds  there  was  no  change  in  her  attitude. 
She  seemed  to  be  taking  his  statement  in.  When  the 
meaning  came  to  her  she  withdrew  her  eyes  from  his  face, 
and  dropped  her  arms  heavily.  More  seconds  passed 
while  she  stood  like  that,  meek,  crushed,  sentenced,  her- 
head  partially  averted,  her  eyes  downcast.  Presently 
she  moved,  but  it  was  only  to  begin  again,  absently, 
mechanically,  to  pick  the  superfluous  female  blossoms 
from  the  nearest  vine,  letting  the  delicate,  pale-gold 
things  flutter  to  the  ground.  It  was  long  before  she 
spoke  in  a  childish,  unresentful  voice: 

"Are  you,  Claude?" 

206 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

He  answered,  firmly,  "Yes,  Rosie;   I  am." 

She  sighed.     "Oh,  very  well." 

He  could  see  that  for  the  moment  she  had  no  spirit 
to  say  more.  Her  very  movements  betrayed  lassitude, 
dejection.  Though  his  heart  smote  him,  he  felt  con- 
strained to  speak  on  his  own  behalf. 

"You'll  remember  that  it  wasn't  my  fault." 

She  went  on  with  her  picking  silently,  but  with  a  weary 
motion  of  the  hands.  The  resumption  of  the  task  com- 
pelled her  to  turn  her  back  to  him,  in  the  position  in  which 
he  had  found  her  when  he  arrived. 

"I'm  simply  doing  what  you  would  have  done  yourself — 
only  Thor  wouldn't  let  you." 

She  made  no  response.  The  picking  of  the  blossoms 
took  her  away  from  him,  step  by  step.  He  made  another 
effort  to  let  her  see  things  from  his  point  of  view. 

"It  wouldn't  be  honorable  for  me  now,  Rosie,  to  be 
paid  for  doing  a  thing  like  that.  It  would  be  payment  to 
me,  though  he  was  going  to  settle  the  money  on  you." 

Even  this  last  piece  of  information  had  no  effect  on  her ; 
she  probably  didn't  understand  its  terms.  Her  fingers 
picked  and  dropped  the  blossoms  slowly  till  she  reached 
the  end  of  her  row. 

He  thought  that  now  she  would  have  to  turn.  If  she 
turned  he  could  probably  wring  from  her  the  word  of  dis- 
missal or  absolution  that  alone  would  satisfy  his  con- 
science. He  didn't  know  that  she  could  slip  around  the 
dense  mass  of  foliage  and  be  out  of  sight.  When  she  did 
so,  amazement  came  to  him  slowly. 

Expecting  her  to  reappear,  he  stood  irresolute.  He 
could  go  after  her  and  clasp  her  in  his  arms  again — or  he 
could  steal  down  the  narrow  aisle  of  greenery  and  pass 
out  of  her  life  for  ever.  Out  of  her  life,  she  would  be 
out  of  his  life — and  there  was  much  to  be  said  in  favor  of 
achieving  that  condition.  There  was  outraged  love  in 
Claude's  heart,  and  also  some  calculation.  It  was  not  all 
calculation,  neither  was  it  all  outraged  love.     If  Rosie 

207 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  flung  him  one  piteous  backward  look,  or  held  out  her 
hands,  or  sobbed,  he  might  have  melted.  But  she  did 
nothing.  She  only  disappeared.  She  was  lying  like  a 
stricken  animal  behind  the  thick  screen  of  leaves,  but  he 
didn't  know  it.  In  any  case,  he  gave  her  the  option  of 
coming  back. 

He  gave  her  the  option  and  waited.  He  waited  in  the 
overpowering  heat,  amid  the  low  humming  of  bees.  The 
minutes  passed;  there  was  neither  sound  among  the  vines 
nor  footstep  beside  him ;  and  so,  with  head  bent  and  eyes 
streaming  and  head  aching  and  nerves  unstrung  and  con- 
science clamoring  reproachfully,  he  turned  and  went  his 
way. 

He  surprised  his  father  by  going  back  to  the  bank. 
"Look  here,  father,"  he  confessed,  "I'm  not  ill.  I'm 
only  terribly  upset  about — about  something.  Can't  you 
send  me  to  New  York?     Isn't  there  any  business — ?" 

Masterman  looked  at  him  gravely  and  kindly.  He 
divined  what  was  happening.  "There's  nothing  in  New 
York,"  he  said,  after  a  minute's  thinking,  "but  there's 
the  Routh  matter  in  Chicago.  Why  shouldn't  you  go 
there?  Mr.  Wright  was  taking  it  up  himself.  Was 
leaving  by  the  four-o'clock  train  this  afternoon.  Go  and 
tell  him  I  want  you  to  take  his  place.  He'll  explain  the 
thing  to  you  and  supply  you  with  funds.  And,"  he 
added,  after  another  minute's  thought,  "since  you're 
going  that  far,  why  shouldn't  you  run  on  to  the  Pacific 
coast?  Do  you  good.  I've  thought  for  some  time  past 
that  you  needed  a  little  change.  Take  your  own  time — 
and  all  the  money  you  want." 

Claude  was  trying  to  articulate  his  thanks  when  his 
father  cut  him  short.  "All  right,  my  boy.  I  know  how 
you  feel.  If  you're  going  to  take  the  four-o'clock  you've 
no  time  to  lose.  Good-by,"  he  continued,  holding  out  his 
hand  heartily.     "Good  luck.     God  bless  you!" 

The  young  man  got  himself  out  of  his  father's  room  in 
order  to  keep  from  bursting  into  tears. 


LIKE    A    STRICKEN    ANIMAL    BEHIND   THE    THICK    SCREEN    OF    LEAVES 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AS  Thor  and  Lois  breakfasted  on  the  following  Sunday 
i  the  former  was  too  busy  with  the  paper  to  notice 
that  his  wife  seemed  preoccupied.  He  was  made  to  un- 
derstand it  by  her  manner  of  saying,  "Thor." 

Dropping  the  paper,  he  gave  her  his  attention.     "Yes?" 

Her  head  was  inclined  to  one  side  as  she  trifled  with  her 
toast.  "You  know,  Thor,  that  it's  an  old  custom  for 
newly  married  people  to  go  to  church  together  on  the 
first  Sunday  they're  at  home." 

"Oh,  Lord!" 

She  had  expected  the  exclamation.  She  also  expected  the 
half -humorous,  half-repentant  compliance  which  ensued. 

"All  right,  I'll  go." 

It  was  the  sort  of  yielding  that  followed  on  all  his  bits 
of  resistance  to  her  wishes — a  yielding  on  second  thought — 
a  yielding  through  compunction — as  though  he  were  try- 
ing to  make  up  to  her  for  something  he  wasn't  giving  her. 
She  laughed  to  herself  at  that,  seeing  that  he  gave  her 
everything;  but  she  meant  that  if  she  were  not  so  favored 
she  might  have  harbored  the  suspicion  that  on  account 
of  something  lacking  in  their  life  he  fell  back  on  a  form  of 
reparation.  As  it  was,  she  could  only  ascribe  his  pecu- 
liarity in  this  respect  to  the  kindness  of  a  nature  that 
never  seemed  to  think  it  could  be  kind  enough. 

It  was  her  turn  to  feel  compunction.  "  Don't  go  if  you'd 
rather  not.  It's  only  a  country  custom,  almost  gone  out 
of  fashion  nowadays." 

But  he  persisted.  "Oh,  I'll  go.  Must  put  on  another 
suit.     Top-hat,  of  course." 

209 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

With  a  good  woman's  satisfaction  in  getting  her  husband 
to  church,  if  only  for  once,  she  said  no  more  in  the  way  of 
dissuasion.  Besides,  she  hoped  that,  should  he  go,  he 
might  "hear  something"  that  would  comfort  this  hidden 
grief  of  which  she  no  longer  had  a  doubt,  since  Claude 
too,  was  aware  of  it.  It  was  curious  how  it  betrayed  it- 
self— neither  by  act  nor  word  nor  manner,  nor  so  much  as 
a  sigh,  and  yet  by  a  something  indefinable  beyond  all  his 
watchfulness  to  conceal  from  her.  She  couldn't  guess  at 
his  trouble,  even  when  she  tried;  but  she  tried  only  from 
inadvertence.  When  she  caught  herself  doing  so  she 
refrained,  respecting  his  secret  till  he  thought  it  well  to 
tell  her. 

She  said  no  more  till  he  again  dropped  the  paper  to 
give  his  attention  to  his  coffee.  "Have  you  been  to  see 
the  Fays  yet?" 

He  put  the  cup  down  without  tasting  it.  He  sat  quite 
upright  and  looked  at  her  strangely.     He  even  flushed. 

"Why,  no." 

The  tone  appealed  to  her  ear  and  remained  in  her 
memory,  though  for  the  moment  she  had  no  reason  to 
consider  it  significant.  She  merely  answered,  "I  thought 
I  might  walk  up  the  hill  and  see  Rosie  this  afternoon," 
leaving  the  subject  there. 

Thor  found  the  service  novel,  and  impressive  from  its 
novelty.  Except  for  the  few  weddings  and  funerals  he  had 
attended,  and  the  service  on  the  day  he  married  Lois,  he 
could  hardly  remember  when  he  had  been  present  as  a 
formal  participant  at  a  religious  ceremony.  He  had, 
therefore,  no  preconceived  ideas  concerning  Christian 
worship,  and  not  much  in  the  way  of  prejudice.  He  had 
dropped  in  occasionally  on  the  services  of  foreign  cathe- 
drals, but  purely  as  a  tourist  who  made  no  attempt  to 
understand  what  was  taking  place.  On  this  particular 
morning,  however,  the  pressure  of  needs  and  emotions 
within  his  soul  induced  an  inquiring  frame  of  mind. 

On  reaching  the  pew  to  which  Lois  led  him  he  sat  down 

210 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

awkwardly,  looking  for  a  place  in  which  to  bestow  his  top- 
hat  without  ruffling  its  gloss.  Lois  herself  fell  on  her 
knees  in  prayer.  The  act  took  him  by  surprise.  It  was 
new  to  him.  He  was  aware  that  she  said  prayers  in 
private,  and  had  a  vague  idea  of  the  import  of  the  rite; 
but  this  public,  unabashed  devotion  gave  him  a  little 
shock  till  he  saw  that  others  came  in  and  engaged  in  it. 
They  entered  and  knelt,  not  in  obedience  to  any  pre- 
concerted ceremony,  but  each  on  his  own  impulse,  and 
rose,  looking,  so  it  seemed  to  Thor,  reassured  and  stilled. 
That  was  his  next  impression — reassurance,  stillness. 
There  was  a  serenity  here  that  he  had  never  before  had 
occasion  to  recognize  as  part  of  life.  People  whom  he 
knew  in  a  commonplace  way  as  this  or  that  in  the  village 
sat  hushed,  tranquil,  dignified  above  their  ordinary  state, 
raised  to  a  level  higher  than  any  that  could  be  reached 
by  their  own  attainments  or  personalities.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  come  into  a  world  of  new  standards,  new 
values.  Lois  herself,  as  she  rose  from  her  knees  and  sat 
beside  him,  gained  in  a  quality  which  he  had  no  capacity 
to  gauge. 

He  belonged  to  the  new  scientific  school  which  studies 
and  co-relates,  but  is  chary  of  affirmations,  and  charier 
still  of  denials.  "Never  deny  anything — ne  niez  jamais 
rien" — had  been  one  of  the  standing  bits  of  advice  on  the 
part  of  old  Hervieu,  under  whom  he  had  worked  at  the 
Institut  Pasteur.  He  kept  himself,  therefore,  in  a  non- 
hostile  attitude  toward  all  theories  and  systems.  He  had 
but  a  hazy  idea  as  to  Christian  beliefs,  but  he  knew  in  a 
general  way  that  they  were  preposterous.  Preposterous 
as  they  might  be,  it  was  his  place,  however,  to  observe 
phenomena,  and,  now  that  he  had  an  opportunity  to  do 
so,  he  observed  them. 

"How  did  you  like  it?"     Lois  ventured,   timidly,  as 
after  service  they  walked  along  County  Street. 
"I  liked  it." 
"Why?" 

211 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

The  answer  astonished  her.     "It  was  big." 

"Big?     How?" 

' '  The  sweep — the  ideas .  So  high — so  universal !  Makes 
a  tremendous  appeal  to — the  imagination." 

She  smiled  toward  him  shyly.  "It's  something,  isn't 
it,  to  appeal  to  the  imagination?" 

"Oh,  lots — since  imagination  rules  the  world." 

They  were  on  their  way  to  lunch  with  Thor's  father  and 
stepmother.  Now  that  there  were  two  households  in  the 
family,  the  father  insisted  on  a  domestic  reunion  once  a 
week.  It  was  his  way  of  expressing  paternal  forbearance 
under  the  blow  Thor  had  dealt  him  in  marrying  Lois 
Willoughby. 

"Where's  Claude?" 

Thor  asked  the  question  on  sitting  down  to  table.  His 
father  looked  at  his  mother,  who  replied,  with  some  self- 
consciousness  : 

"He's— he's  gone  West." 

"West?     Where?" 

"To  Chicago  first,  isn't  it,  Archie?" 

Masterman  admitted  that  it  was  to  Chicago  first,  and 
to  the  Pacific  coast  afterward.  Thor's  dismay  was  such 
that  Lois  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Why,  Thor? 
What  difference  can  it  make  to  you?  Claude's  able  to 
travel  alone,  isn't  he?" 

The  efforts  made  by  both  his  parents  to  carry  off  the 
matter  lightly  convinced  Thor  that  there  was  more  in 
Claude's  departure  than  either  business  or  pleasure  would 
explain.  Before  Lois,  who  was  not  yet  in  the  family 
secret,  he  could  ask  no  questions;  but  it  seemed  to  him 
that  both  his  father  and  his  mother  had  uneasiness  written 
in  their  faces.  He  could  hardly  eat.  He  bolted  his  food 
only  to  put  Lois  off  the  scent.  The  old  tumult  in  his  soul 
which  he  was  seeking  every  means  to  still  was  beginning 
to  break  out  again.  If  it  should  prove  that  he  had  given 
up  Rosie  Fay  to  Claude,  and  that,  with  his  parents'  con- 

212 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

nivance,  Claude  was  trying  to  abandon  her,  then,  by 
God  .  .  . 

But  he  caught  Lois's  eye.  She  was  watching  him,  not 
so  much  in  disquietude  as  with  faint  amusement.  It 
seemed  odd  to  her  that  Claude's  going  away  for  a  holiday 
should  vex  him  so.  Poor  Lois!  He  was  already  afraid  on 
her  account — afraid  that  if  Rosie  Fay  were  left  deserted — 
free! — and  a  temptation  he  couldn't  resist  were  to  come  to 
him ! — Lois  would  be  the  one  to  suffer  most. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when  his  father  had 
gone  off  in  one  direction  and  Lois  in  another,  he  found  an 
opportunity  for  the  word  with  his  stepmother  which  he 
had  hung  about  the  house  to  get. 

"There's  nothing  behind  this,  is  there?" 

She  averted  her  head.  "How  do  I  know,  Thor?  I 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  All  I  know  is  just  what  hap- 
pened. Claude  came  rushing  home  last  Wednesday,  and 
said  he  had  to  go  right  off  to  Chicago  on  business.  I 
helped  him  pack — and  he  went." 

"Why  didn't  any  one  tell  me?" 

"Well,  you  haven't  been  at  the  house.  And  it  didn't 
seem  important  enough — " 

"But  it  is  important,  isn't  it?  Doesn't  father  think 
so?" 

She  tried  to  look  at  him  frankly.  "Your  father  doesn't 
know  any  more  about  it  than  I  know — and  that's  nothing 
at  all.  Claude  came  to  him  and  said — but  I  really 
oughtn't  to  tell  you,  Thor.  Your  father  would  be  an- 
noyed with  me." 

"Then  it's  something  that's  got  to  be  kept  from  me." 

"N-no;  not  exactly.  It's  only  poor  Claude's  secret. 
We  didn't  try  to  wring  it  from  him  because —  Oh,  Thor, 
I  wish  you  would  let  things  take  their  course.  I'm  sure  it 
would  be  best." 

"Best  to  let  Claude  be  a  scoundrel?" 

"Oh,  he  couldn't  be  that.  I  want  to  be  just  to  that 
girl,  but  we  both  know  that  there  are  queer  things  about 

213 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

her.  There's  that  man  who's  giving  her  money — and 
dear  knows  what  there  may  be  besides.  And  so  if  they 
have  quarreled — " 

But  Thor  rushed  away.  Having  learned  all  he  needed 
to  know  on  that  side,  he  must  hear  what  was  to  be  said 
on  the  other.  He  had  hoped  never  again  to  be  brought 
face  to  face  with  Rosie  till  she  was  his  brother's  wife. 
That  condition  would  have  dug  such  a  gulf  between  them 
that  even  nature  would  be  changed.  But  if  she  was  not 
to  be  Claude's  wife— if  Claude  was  becoming  a  brute  to 
her — then  she  must  see  that  at  least  she  had  a  friend. 

His  heart  was  so  hot  within  him  as  he  climbed  the  hill 
that  he  forgot  that  Lois  would  probably  be  there  before 
him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  talking  to  Fay  in  a 
corner  of  the  yard,  standing  in  the  shade  of  a  great  magno- 
lia that  was  a  pyramid  of  bloom.  All  around  it  the  ground 
was  strewn  in  a  circle  with  its  dead-white  petals,  each 
with  its  flush  of  red.  Near  the  house  there  were  yellow 
clumps  of  forsythia,  while  the  hedge  of  bridal-veil  to  the 
south  of  the  grass-plot  seemed  to  have  just  received  a  fall 
of  snow. 

Fay  confronted  him  as,  slackening  his  pace,  he  went 
toward  them;  but  Lois  turned  only  at  his  approach.  Her 
expression  was  troubled. 

"Thor,  I  wish  you'd  explain  to  me  what  Mr.  Fay  is 
saying.     He  doesn't  want  me  to  see  Rosie." 

"Why,  what's  up?" 

Fay's  expression  told  him  that  something  serious  was 
up,  for  it  was  ashen.  It  had  grown  old  and  sunken,  and 
the  eyes  had  changed  their  starry  vagueness  to  a  dulled 
animosity. 

"There's  this  much  up,  Dr.  Thor,"  Fay  said,  in  that 
tone  of  his  which  was  at  once  mild  and  hostile,  "that  I 
don't  want  any  Masterman  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
me  or  mine." 

Thor  tried  to  control  the  sharpness  of  his  cry.  "Why 
not?" 

214 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"You  ought  to  know  why  not,  Dr.  Thor.  And  if  you 
don't,  you've  only  to  look  at  my  little  girl.  Oh,  why 
couldn't  you  leave  her  alone?" 

Lois  spoke  anxiously.  "Is  anything  the  matter  with 
her?" 

"Only  that  you've  killed  her  between  you." 

Thor  allowed  Lois  to  question  him.  "Why,  what  can 
you  mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say,  ma'am — that  she's  done  for." 

Lois  grew  impatient.  "But  I  don't  understand.  Done 
for — how?"  She  turned  to  her  husband.  "Oh,  Thor,  do 
see  her  and  find  out  what's  the  matter." 

"No,  ma'am,"  Fay  said,  firmly.  "He's  seen  her  once 
too  often  as  it  is." 

Lois  repeated  the  words.  "'Once  too  often  as  it  is'! 
What  does  that  mean?" 

"Better  ask  him,  ma'am." 

"It's  no  use  asking  me,"  Thor  declared,  "for  I've  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  what  you're  driving  at." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  can  play  the  innocent,  Dr.  Thor; 
but  it's  no  use  keeping  up  the  game.  You  took  me  in  at 
first;  you  took  me  in  right  along.  You  were  going  to  be 
a  friend  to  me ! — and  buy  the  place ! — and  keep  me  in  it  to 
work  it ! — and  every  sort  of  palaver  like  that ! — when  you 
was  only  after  my  little  girl." 

Thor  was  dumb.  It  was  Lois  who  protested.  "Oh, 
Mr.  Fay,  how  can  you  say  such  things?     It's  wicked." 

"It  may  be  wicked,  all  right,  ma'am;  but  ask  him  how 
I  can  say  them.  All  I  know  is  what  I've  seen.  If  you 
was  going  to  marry  this  lady,"  he  went  on,  turning  again 
to  Thor,  "why  couldn't  you  have  kept  away  from  my 
little  girl?  You  didn't  do  yourself  any  good,  and  you 
did  her  a  lot  of  harm." 

It  was  to  come  to  Thor's  aid  as  he  stood  speechless 
that  Lois  said,  soothingly:  "But  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
that,  Mr.  Fay.  I  never  wanted  anything  of  Rosie  but 
to  be  her  friend." 

215 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"You,  ma'am?  You're  all  of  a  piece.  You're  all 
Mastermans  together.  What  had  you  to  do  with  being  a 
friend  to  her? — getting  her  to  call! — and  have  tea! — and 
putting  notions  into  her  head!  The  rich  and  the  poor 
can't  be  friends  any  longer.  If  the  poor  think  they  can, 
the  more  fool  they!  We've  been  fools  in  my  family, 
thinking  because  we  were  Americans  we  had  rights. 
There's  no  rights  any  more,  except  the  right  of  the  strong 
to  trample  on  the  weak — till  some  one  tramples  on  them. 
And  some  one  always  does.  There's  that.  We're  down 
to-day,  but  you'll  be  down  to-morrow.  Don't  forget  it, 
ma'am.  America  has  that  kind  of  justice  when  it  hasn't 
any  other — that  it  makes  everybody  take  their  turn. 
It's  ours  now;  but  you'll  get  yours  as  sure  as  life  is  life." 

Lois  looked  at  Thor.  "Can  you  make  out  what  he 
means?" 

"I  can  make  out  that  he's  very  much  mistaken — " 

"Mistaken,  Dr.  Thor?  I  don't  see  how  you  can  say 
that.  I  wasn't  mistaken  the  night  I  saw  you  creeping 
into  that  hothouse  over  there,  where  you  knew  my  little 
girl  was  at  work.  I  wasn't  mistaken  when  I  saw  you 
creep  away.  Still  less  was  I  mistaken  when  I  stole  in 
after  you  had  gone,  and  found  her  with  her  arms  on  the 
desk,  and  her  head  bowed  down  on  them,  and  she  crying 
fit  to  kill  herself.  That  was  just  a  few  days  before  she 
heard  you  was  going  to  marry  this  lady — and  she's  never 
been  the  same  child  since.  Always  troubled — always 
something  on  her  mind.  Not  once  since  that  night  have 
you  darkened  these  doors,  though  you'd  had  a  patient 
here.     Have  you,  now?" 

"I  didn't  come,"  Thor  stammered,  "because  Dr. 
Hilary  had  done  all  that  was  necessary  for  Mrs.  Fay,  and 
— and  I've  been  away." 

"But  if  you  didn't  come,"  Fay  went  on,  with  the  mild- 
ness that  was  more  forcible  than  wrath,  "some  one  else 
did.  You'd  left  a  good  substitute.  He's  finished  the 
work  that  you  began.     He  was  here  with  her  an  hour  last 

216 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Wednesday  morning — just  after  I'd  warned  him  off  fo> 
good  and  all." 

Thor  started.     "Let  me  go  to  her." 

But  Fay  stood  in  his  way.  "No,  sir.  To  see  you 
would  be  the  finishing  touch.  She  can't  hear  your  name 
without  a  shiver  going  through  her  from  head  to  foot. 
We've  tried  it  on  her.  Between  the  two  of  you — your 
brother  and  you — it's  you  she's  most  afraid  of."  There 
was  silence  for  a  second,  while  he  turned  his  gray  face 
first  to  the  one  and  then  to  the  other  of  his  two  listeners. 
"Why  couldn't  you  all  have  let  her  be?  What  were 
you  after?  What  have  you  got  out  of  it?  I  can't 
see." 

"Fay,  I  swear  to  you  that  we  never  wanted  anything 
but  her  good,"  Thor  cried,  with  a  passion  that  made  Lois 
turn  her  troubled  eyes  on  him  searchingly.  "If  my 
brother  hasn't  told  you  what  he  meant,  I'll  do  it  now. 
He  wanted  to  marry  Rosie.  He  was  to  have  married  her. 
If  there's  trouble  between  them,  it's  all  a  mistake.  Just 
let  me  see  her — " 

But  Fay  dismissed  this  as  idle  talk.  "No,  Dr  Thor. 
Stories  of  that  kind  don't  do  any  good.  Your  brother 
never  wanted  to  marry  her,  or  meant  to,  either — not  any 
more  than  you.  What  you  did  want  and  what  you  did 
mean  God  only  knows.  It's  mystery  to  me.  But  what 
isn't  mystery  to  me  is  that  we're  all  done  for.  Now  that 
she's  gone,  we're  all  gone — the  lot  of  us.  I've  kept  up 
till  now—" 

"If  money  will  do  any  good,  Fay — "  Thor  began,  with 
a  catch  in  his  voice. 

"No,  Dr.  Thor;  not  now.  Money  might  have  helped 
us  once,  but  I  ain't  going  to  take  a  price  for  my  little 
girl's  unhappiness." 

"But  what  would  do  good,  Mr.  Fay?"  Lois  asked.  "If 
you'd  only  tell  us — " 

"Then,  ma'am,  I  will.  It's  to  let  us  be.  Don't  come 
near  me  nor  mine  any  more — none  o'  you." 

15  217 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  turned  to  Thor.  "Thor,  is  it  true  that  Claude 
wanted  to  marry  Rosie?     I've  never  heard  of  it." 

"Oh  yes,  ma'am,  you  have,"  Fay  broke  in,  with  irony. 
"We've  all  heard  of  that  kind  o'  marriage.  It's  as  old  as 
men  and  women  on  the  earth.  But  it  don't  go  down  with 
me;  and  if  I  find  that  my  little  girl  has  been  taken  in  by 
it,  then  I  sha'n't  be  to  blame  if — if  some  one  gets  what  he 
deserves." 

The  words  were  uttered  in  tones  so  mild  that,  as  he 
shuffled  away,  leaving  them  staring  at  each  other,  they 
scarcely  knew  that  there  had  been  a  threat  in  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IT  was  an  incoherent  tale  that  Thor  stammered  out  to 
Lois  as  he  and  she  walked  homeward.  By  trying 
to  tell  Claude's  story  without  including  his  own  he  was, 
for  the  first  time  since  the  days  of  school-boy  escapades, 
making  a  deliberate  attempt  at  prevarication.  He  sup- 
pressed certain  facts,  and  over-emphasized  others.  He 
did  it  with  a  sense  of  humiliation  which  became  acute 
when  he  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  not  deceiving  her. 
She  walked  on,  saying  nothing  at  all.  Now  and  then, 
when  he  ventured  to  glance  at  her  in  profile,  she  turned 
to  give  him  a  sick,  sad  smile  that  seemed  to  draw  its 
sweetness  from  the  futility  of  his  efforts.  "My  God, 
she  knows!"  were  the  words  actually  in  his  mind  while  he 
went  floundering  on  with  the  explanation  of  why  he 
couldn't  allow  Claude  to  be  a  cad. 

And  yet,  except  for  those  smiles  of  an  elusiveness  beyond 
him,  she  betrayed  no  hint  of  being  stricken  in  the  way  he 
was  afraid  of.  On  the  contrary,  she  seemed,  when  she 
spoke,  to  be  giving  her  mind  entirely  to  the  course  of 
Claude's  romance.  "He  won't  marry  her.  He'll  marry 
Elsie  Darling." 

An  hour  ago  the  assertion  would  have  angered  him. 
Now  he  was  relieved  that  she  had  the  spirit  to  make  it  at 
all.  He  endeavored  to  imitate  her  tone.  "What  makes 
you  think  so?" 

"I  know  Claude.  She's  the  sort  of  girl  for  him  to 
marry.     There's  good  in  him,  and  she'll  bring  it  out." 

"Unfortunately,  it's  too  late  to  think  of  Claude's  good 
when  he's  pledged  to  some  one  else." 

219 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Would  you  make  him  marry  her?" 

"I'd  make  him  do  his  duty." 

She  gave  him  another  of  those  faint  smiles  of  which  the 
real  meaning  baffled  him.  ' '  I  wouldn't  lay  too  much  stress 
on  that,  if  I  were  you.  To  marry  for  the  sake  of  doing 
one's  duty  is" — she  faltered  an  instant,  but  recovered 
herself — "is  as  likely  as  not  to  defeat  its  own  ends." 

He  was  afraid  to  pursue  the  topic  lest  she  should  speak 
more  plainly.  On  arriving  home  he  was  glad  to  see  her 
go  to  her  room  and  shut  the  door.  It  grieved  him  to 
think  that  she  might  be  brooding  in  silence,  but  even  that 
was  better  than  speech.  As  Uncle  Sim  and  Cousin  Amy 
Dawes  were  coming  to  Sunday-night  supper,  the  evening 
would  be  safe;  and  to  avoid  being  face  to  face  with  her 
in  the  meanwhile  he  went  out  again. 

Having  passed  an  hour  in  his  office,  he  strolled  up  into 
the  wood  above  the  village,  his  refuge  from  boyhood 
onward  in  any  hour  of  trouble.  There  was  space  here, 
and  air,  and  solitude.  It  was  a  diversion  that  was 
almost  a  form  of  consolation  to  be  in  touch  with  the 
wood's  teeming  life.  Moreover,  the  trees,  with  their 
stately  aloofness  from  mortal  cares,  their  strifelessness 
and  strength,  shed  on  him  a  kind  of  benediction.  From 
long  association,  from  days  of  bird's-nesting  in  spring, 
and  camping  in  summer,  and  nutting  in  autumn,  and 
snow-shoeing  in  winter,  he  knew  them  almost  as 
individual  personalities  —  the  great  white  oaks,  the 
paper  birches,  the  white  pines  with  knots  that  were 
masses  of  dry  resin,  the  Canada  balsams  with  odorous 
boughs,  the  sugar-maples,  the  silver  maples,  the  beeches, 
the  junipers,  the  hemlocks,  the  hackmatacks,  with  the 
low-growing  hickories,  witch-hazels,  and  slippery-elms. 
Their  green  was  the  green  of  early  May — yellow-green, 
red-green,  bronze-green,  brown-green,  but  nowhere  as  yet 
the  full,  rich  hue  of  summer.  Here  and  there  a  choke- 
cherry  in  full  bloom  swayed  and  shivered  like  a  wraith. 

220 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

In  shady  places  the  ferns  were  unfolding  in  company  with 
Solomon's-seal,  wake-robin,  the  lady's-slipper,  and  the 
painted  trillium.  There  was  an  abundance  of  yellow — 
cinquefoil,  crowfoot,  ragwort,  bell  wort,  and  shy  patches 
of  gold-colored  violets. 

In  the  sloping  outskirts  of  the  wood  he  stood  still 
and  breathed  deeply,  a  portion  of  his  cares  and  diffi- 
culties slipping  from  his  shoulders.  Somewhere  with- 
in him  was  the  sense  of  kinship  with  the  wilderness  that 
has  become  atavistic  in  Americans  of  six  or  eight  genera- 
tions on  the  soil.  It  was  like  skipping  two  centuries 
and  getting  back  where  life  was  primitive  from  necessity. 
There  were  few  if  any  complications  here,  nor  were  there 
subtleties  to  consider.  As  far  back  as  he  knew  anything 
of  his  Thorley  ancestors,  they  had  hewed  and  hacked 
and  delved  and  tilled  on  and  about  this  hillside,  getting 
their  changes  from  its  seasons,  their  food  from  its  products, 
their  science  from  its  bird-life  and  beast-life,  their  arts 
and  their  simples,  their  dyes  and  their  drinks  from  its 
roots  and  juices.  To  the  extent  that  men  and  the  primeval 
could  be  one,  they  had  been  one  with  the  forest  of  which 
nothing  but  this  upland  sweep  remained,  treating  it  as 
both  friend  and  enemy.  As  enemy  they  had  felled  it; 
as  friend  they  had  lived  its  life  and  loved  it,  transmitting 
their  love  to  this  son,  who  was  now  bringing  his  heartaches, 
as  he  was  accustomed  also  to  bring  his  joys,  where  they 
had  brought  their  own. 

The  advantage  of  the  wood  to  Thor  was  that  once 
within  its  shadows  he  could,  to  some  degree,  stop  thinking 
of  the  life  outside.  He  could  give  his  first  attention  to  the 
sounds  and  phenomena  about  him.  As  he  stood  now, 
listening  to  the  resonant  tapping  of  a  hairy  woodpecker 
on  a  dead  tree-trunk  he  could  forget  that  the  world  held  a 
Lois,  a  Rosie,  and  a  Claude,  each  a  storm-center  of  emo- 
tions. It  was  a  respite  from  emotions — in  a  measure,  a 
respite  from  himself.  He  stepped  craftily,  following  the 
sound  of  the  woodpecker's  tap  till  he  had  the  satisfaction 

221 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

of  seeing  a  black-and-white  back,  with  a  red  band  across 
the  busily  bobbing  head.  He  stopped  again  to  watch  a 
chipmunk  who  was  more  sharply  watching  him.  The 
little  fellow,  red-brown  and  striped,  sat  cocked  on  a  stone, 
his  fore  paws  crossed  on  his  white  breast  like  the  hands  of 
a  meek  saint  at  prayer.  Strolling  on  again,  he  paused 
from  time  to  time — to  listen  to  a  robin  singing  right  over- 
head, or  to  catch  the  liquid,  spiritual  chant  of  a  hermit- 
thrush  in  some  stiller  thicket  of  the  wood,  or  to  watch 
a  bluebird  fly  directly  into  its  nest,  probably  an  abandoned 
woodpecker's  hole,  in  a  decaying  Norway  pine.  These 
small  happenings  soothed  him.  Sauntering  and  pausing, 
he  came  up  to  the  high,  treeless  ridge  he  had  last  visited 
on  the  day  he  asked  Lois  to  marry  him. 

The  ridge  broke  sharply  downward  to  a  stretch  of 
undulating  farms.  Patches  of  green  meadowland  were 
interspersed  with  the  broad,  red  fields  in  which  as  yet 
nothing  had  begun  to  grow.  Had  it  not  been  Sunday 
the  farmers  would  have  been  at  work,  plowing,  sowing, 
harrowing.  As  it  was,  the  landscape  enjoyed  a  rich 
Sabbath  peace,  broken  only  by  the  swooping  of  birds,  out 
of  the  invisible,  across  the  line  of  sight,  and  on  into  the 
invisible  again.  It  was  all  beauty  and  promise  of  beauty, 
wealth  and  promise  of  wealth.  The  cherry-trees  were  in 
bloom;  the  pear  and  the  apple  and  the  quince  would  fol- 
low soon.  Above  the  farm-houses  tall  elms  rose,  fan- 
shaped  and  garlanded. 

The  very  charm  of  the  prospect  called  up  those  questions 
he  had  been  trying  for  a  minute  to  shelve.  How  was  it 
that  in  a  land  of  milk  and  honey  men  were  finding  it  so 
hard  to  live?  How  was  it  that  with  conditions  in  which 
every  man  might  have  enough  and  to  spare,  making  it  his 
aim  to  see  that  his  fellow  had  the  same,  there  could  be 
greed  and  ingenious  oppression  and  social  crime,  with  the 
menace  of  things  graver  still?  What's  the  matter  with 
us?  he  asked,  helplessly.  Was  it  something  wrong  with 
the  American  people?  or  was  it  something  wrong  with  the 

222 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

whole  human  race?  or  was  it  a  condition  of  permanent 
strife  that  the  human  race  could  never  escape  from? 
Was  man  a  being  capable  of  high  spiritual  attainment,  as 
he  had  heard  in  the  church  that  morning?  or  was  he 
no  better  than  the  ruthless  creatures  of  the  woodland, 
where  the  weasel  preyed  on  the  chipmunk,  and  the  owl 
on  the  mouse,  and  the  fox  on  the  rabbit,  and  the  shrike 
on  the  phcebe,  and  the  phcebe  on  the  insect,  in  an  endless 
round  of  ferocity?  Had  man  emerged  above  this  estate? 
or  was  it  as  foolish  to  expect  him  to  spare  his  brother-man 
as  to  ask  a  hawk  to  spare  a  hen? 

These  questions  bore  on  Thor's  immediate  thoughts  and 
conduct.  They  bore  on  his  relations  with  his  father  and 
Claude  and  Lois.  Through  the  social  web  in  which  he 
found  himself  involved  they  bore  on  Rosie  Fay;  and  from 
the  social  web  they  worked  out  to  the  great  national  ideals 
in  which  he  longed  to  see  his  native  land  a  sanctuary  for 
mankind.  But  could  man  build  a  sanctuary  ?  Would  he 
know  how  to  make  use  of  one?  Or  was  he,  Thor  Master- 
man,  but  repeating  the  error  of  that  great-grandfather  who 
had  turned  to  America  for  the  salvation  of  the  race,  and 
died  broken-hearted  because  its  people  were  only  looking 
out  for  number  one? 

Because  he  couldn't  find  answers  to  these  questions  for 
himself,  he  tried,  during  supper,  to  sound  Uncle  Sim,  lead- 
ing up  to  the  subject  by  an  adroit  indirectness.  "Been 
to  church,"  he  said,  after  serving  Cousin  Amy  Dawea 
with  lobster  a  la  Newburg. 

"Saw  you,"  came  from  Uncle  Sim. 

"Did  you?  What  were  you  doing  there?  Thought 
you  were  a  disciple  of  old  Hilary." 

"That  was  the  reason.  Hilary's  idea.  Can't  go  'round 
to  the  different  churches  himself,  so  he  sends  me.  Look 
in  on  'em  all." 

"There's  too  much  sherry  in  this  lobster  a  la  Newburg," 
Cousin  Amy  Dawes  said,  sternly.  "  I  bet  she's  put  in  two 
tablespoonfuls  instead  of  one." 

223 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Being  stone-deaf,  Cousin  Amy  Dawes  took  no  part  in 
conversation  except  what  she  herself  could  contribute. 
She  was  a  dignified  woman  who  had  the  air  of  being  hewn 
in  granite.  There  was  nothing  soft  about  her  but  three 
detachable  corkscrew  curls  on  each  side  of  an  immobile 
face  and  a  heart  that  every  one  knew  to  be  as  maternal 
as  milk.  Dressed  in  stiff  black  silk,  a  heavy  gold  chain 
around  her  neck,  and  a  huge  gold  brooch  at  her  throat, 
and  wearing  fmgerless  black-silk  mittens,  she  might  have 
walked  out  of  an  old  daguerreotype. 

"I  should  think,"  Thor  observed,  dryly,  "that  you'd 
find  your  religion  growing  rather  composite." 

"No.  T'other  way 'round.  Grows  simpler.  Get  their 
co-ordinating  principle — the  common  denominator  that 
goes  into  'em  all." 

"That  is,"  Lois  said,  in  the  endeavor  to  be  free  to  think 
her  own  thoughts  by  keeping  him  on  a  hobby,  "you  look 
for  their  points  of  contact  rather  than  their  differences." 

"Oh,  you  get  beyond  the  differences.  'Beyond  these 
voices  there  is  peace.'  Doesn't  some  one  say  that  ?  Well, 
you  get  there.  If  you  can  stand  the  clamor  of  the  voices 
for  a  while  you  emerge  into  a  kind  of  still  place  where  they 
blend  into  one.  Then  you  find  that  they're  all  trying  to 
say  the  same  thing,  which  is  also  the  thing  you're  trying 
to  say  yourself." 

As  he  sat  back  in  his  chair  twisting  his  wiry  mustache 
with  a  handsome,  sun-burnt  hand,  Thor  felt  that  he  had 
him  where  he  had  been  hoping  to  get  him.  "But  what 
do  we  want  to  say,  Uncle  Sim?  What  do  you  want  to  say? 
And  what  do  I?" 

The  old  man  held  his  sharp-pointed  beard  by  the  tip, 
eying  his  nephew  obliquely.  "That's  the  great  secret, 
Thor.  We're  all  like  little  babies,  who  from  the  time  they 
begin  to  hear  language  are  bursting  with  the  desire  to  say 
something;  only  they  don't  know  what  it  is  till  they  learn 
to  speak.     Then  it  comes  to  'em." 

"Yes,  but  what  comes  to  them?" 

224 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Isn't  it  what  comes  to  all  babies — the  instinct  to  say, 
Abba— Father?" 

"Say,  Lois,"  Cousin  Amy  Dawes  requested,  in  her  loud, 
commanding  voice,  "just  save  me  a  mite  of  this  cold  duck 
for  old  Sally  Gibbs.  It  '11  be  tasty  for  the  poor  soul. 
I'll  take  it  to  her  as  we  go  up  the  hill.  What  do  you  pay 
your  cook?"  Without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  con- 
tinued like  an  oracle,  "I  don't  believe  she's  worth  it." 

Thor  leaned  across  the  table.  "What  I  want  to  know 
is  this:  suppose  the  instinct  to  say  Abba — Father  does 
come  to  us,  is  there  anything  there  to  respond  that  will 
show  us  a  better  way — personally  and  nationally,  I  mean, 
than  the  rather  poor  one  we're  finding  for  ourselves?" 

"Can't  give  you  any  guarantees,  Thor,  if  that's  what 
you're  after.  Just  got  to  say  Abba — Father,  and  see  for 
yourself.  Nothing  but  seeing  for  oneself  is  any  good  when 
it  comes  to  the  personal.  And  as  for  the  national — well, 
there  was  a  man  once  who  went  stalking  through  the  land 
crying,  '  O  Israel,  turn  thee  to  the  Lord  thy  God,'  and  I 
guess  he  knew  what  he  was  about.  It  was,  '  Turn  ye, 
turn  ye!  Why  will  ye  die?'  They  didn't  turn  and  so 
they  died.  Inevitable  consequence.  Same  with  this 
people  or  any  other  people.  In  proportion  as  it  turns  to 
the  Lord  its  God  it  '11  live;  and  in  proportion  as  it  doesn't 
it  '11  go  to  pot."  He  veered  around  to  Lois  as  to  one  who 
would  agree  with  him:  "Ain't  that  it?" 

She  responded  with  a  sweet,  absent  smile  which  showed 
to  Thor  at  least  that  her  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  Thor's  questions  and  Uncle  Sim's  replies, 
which  continued  in  more  or  less  the  same  strain,  lay  in  a 
realm  with  regard  to  which  she  had  few  misgivings  or 
anxieties.  Her  heart-searchings  being  of  another  nature, 
she  was  doing  in  thought  what  she  had  done  when  in  the 
afternoon  she  had  gone  to  her  room  and  shut  the  door. 
She  was  standing  before  her  mirror,  contrasting  the  image 
reflected  there  with  Rosie  Fay's  worn,  touching  prettiness. 

How  awesome,  how  incredible,  that  Thor,  her  great, 

225 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

noble  Thor,  should  have  let  his  heart  go — perhaps  the 
very  best  of  his  heart — to  anything  so  insignificant,  so 
unformed,  so  unequal  to  himself!  It  was  this  awesome- 
ness,  this  incredibility,  that  overwhelmed  her.  Her  mind 
fixed  itself  on  it,  for  the  time  being,  to  the  exclusion  of 
other  considerations.  Thor  was  like  meaner  men!  He 
could  be  caught  by  a  pretty  face!  He  was  so  big  in  body 
and  soul  that  she  had  thought  him  free  from  petty  failing 
— and  yet  here  it  was!  There  was  a  kind  of  shame  in 
it.     It  weakened  him,  it  lowered  him. 

She  had  seen  it  from  the  minute  when  he  began  to  tell 
his  halting  tale  about  Claude.  It  was  pitiful  the  way  in 
which  he  had  betrayed  himself.  From  Fay  she  had  got 
no  more  than  a  hint — a  hint  she  had  been  quick  to  collate 
with  her  knowledge  of  some  secret  grief  on  Thor's  part; 
but  she  hadn't  been  really  sure  of  the  truth  till  she  saw  he 
was  trying  to  hide  it.  That  Thor  should  be  trying  to 
hide  anything  made  her  burn  inwardly  with  something 
more  poignant  than  humiliation. 

She  had  smiled  when  he  looked  so  imploringly  toward 
her,  but  she  hardly  knew  why.  Perhaps  it  was  to  encour- 
age him,  to  give  him  heart.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  felt  the  stronger,  the  superior.  She  was  sorry  for  him, 
even  though  there  was  something  about  this  new  and 
unexpected  phase  in  him  that  she  despised. 

She  had  got  no  further  than  that  when  the  guests 
came  and  she  had  to  give  them  her  attention.  When  they 
left,  and  Thor  was  seeing  them  to  the  door,  she  took  the 
opportunity  to  slip  up  to  her  room  again.  She  locked  the 
door  behind  her,  and  locked  the  door  that  communicated 
with  his  dressing-room.  Once  more  she  took  her  stand 
before  the  pier-glass. 

Something  had  come  to  her;  she  was  sure  of  it.  It 
had  come  almost  since  that  afternoon.  If  it  was  not 
beauty,  it  rendered  beauty  of  no  importance.  It  was  a 
spirit,  a  fire,  that  made  her  a  woman  who  could  be  proud, 
a  woman  a  man  might  be  proud  of.     She  had  come  to  her 

226 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

own  at  last.  She  could  see  for  herself  that  there  was  a 
subdued  splendor  about  her  which  raised  her  in  the  scale 
of  personality.  She  had  little  vanity;  hitherto  she  had 
had  little  pride;  but  she  knew  now,  with  an  assurance 
which  it  would  have  been  hypocritical  to  disguise,  that 
she  was  the  true  mate  of  the  man  she  had  taken  Thor  to 
be.  She  had  known  it  before — diffidently  and  apolo- 
getically. She  knew  it  now  calmly,  and  as  a  matter  of 
course,  in  a  manner  that  did  away  with  any  necessity 
for  shrinking  or  self -depreciation. 

She  moved  away  from  the  mirror,  taking  off  the  string 
of  small  pearls  she  wore  and  throwing  them  on  the  dress- 
ing-table. In  the  middle  of  the  room  she  stood  with  a 
feeling  of  helplessness.  It  was  so  difficult  to  see  what  she 
ought  to  do.  What  was  one's  duty  toward  a  husband 
who  had  practically  told  her  that  he  had  married  her  only 
because  he  couldn't  marry  a  woman  he  loved  better? 
Other  questions  began  to  rise  within  her,  questions  and 
protests  and  flashes  of  indignation,  but  she  beat  them 
back,  standing  in  an  attitude  of  reflection,  and  trying  to 
discern  the  first  steps  of  her  way.  She  knew  that  the 
emotions  she  was  keeping  under  would  assert  themselves 
in  time,  but  just  now  she  wanted  only  to  see  what  she 
ought  to  do  during  the  next  half-hour. 

There  came  into  her  mind  what  Uncle  Sim  had  said 
at  supper — "Just  got  to  say  Abba — Father,  and  see." 
She  shook  her  head.  She  couldn't  say  Abba — Father  at 
present.  She  didn't  know  why — but  she  couldn't. 
Whatever  the  passion  within  her,  it  was  nothing  she  could 
bring  before  a  Throne  of  Grace.  It  crossed  her  mind 
that  if  she  prayed  at  all  that  night  she  would  pass  this 
whole  matter  over.     And  in  that  case,  why  pray  at  all? 

And  yet  the  thought  of  omitting  her  prayers  disturbed 
her.  If  she  did  it  to-night,  why  not  to-morrow  night? 
And  if  to-morrow  night,  where  would  it  end?  It  was  not 
a  convincing  argument,  but  it  drew  her  toward  her  bed- 
side. 

227 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Even  then  she  didn't  kneel  down,  but  clung  to  one  of  the 
tall,  fluted  posts  that  supported  a  canopy.  She  couldn't 
pray.  She  didn't  know  what  to  pray  for.  Conventional 
petitions  would  have  had  no  meaning,  and  for  the  moment 
she  had  no  others  to  offer  up.  It  was  but  half  consciously 
that  she  found  herself  stammering:  "Abba — Father! 
Abba — Father!"  her  lips  moving  dumbly  to  the  syllables. 

It  brought  her  no  relief.  It  gave  her  neither  immediate 
light  on  her  way  nor  any  new  sense  of  power.  She  was  as 
dazed  as  ever,  and  as  indignant.  And  yet  when  she 
raised  herself  from  the  weary  clinging  to  the  fluted  post  she 
went  to  both  the  doors  she  had  locked  and  unlocked  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  consciousness  of  something  to  be  suppressed  was 
with  Lois  when  she  woke.  "Not  yet!  Not  yet!" 
was  the  warning  of  her  subliminal  self  whenever  resent- 
ments and  indignations  endeavored  to  escape  control. 

With  Thor  she  kept  to  subjects  that  had  no  personal 
bearing,  clearly  to  his  relief.  At  breakfast  they  talked  of 
the  Mexican  rising  under  Madero,  which  was  discussed  in 
the  papers  of  that  morning.  She  knew  that  the  question 
in  his  mind  was,  "Does  she  really  know?"  but  she  betrayed 
nothing  that  would  help  him  to  an  answer. 

When,  after  having  kissed  her  with  a  timid,  apologetic 
affection  which  partly  touched  and  partly  angered  her,  he 
left  for  the  office,  she  put  on  a  hat  and,  taking  a  parasol, 
went  to  see  Dr.  Hilary. 

The  First  Parish  Church,  the  oldest  in  the  village, 
stands  in  a  grassy  delta  where  two  of  the  rambling  village 
lanes  enter  the  Square.  The  white,  barn-like  nave,  with 
its  upper  and  lower  rows  of  small,  oblong  windows,  retires 
discreetly  within  a  grove  of  elms,  while  a  tall,  slim  spire 
grows  slimmer  through  diminishing  tiers  of  arches,  bal- 
conies, and  lancet  lights  till  it  dwindles  away  into  a  high, 
graceful  pinnacle. 

Behind  the  church,  in  the  widest  section  of  the  delta, 
the  parsonage,  a  white  wooden  box  dating  from  the  fifties 
supporting  a  smaller  box  by  way  of  cupola,  looks  across 
garden,  shrubbery,  and  lawn  to  Schoolhouse  Lane,  from 
which  nothing  but  the  simplest  form  of  wooden  rail 
protects  the  inclosure. 

It  was  the  time  for  bulbs  to  be  in  flower,  and  the  spring 

229 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

perennials.  Tulips  in  a  wide,  dense  mass  bordered  the 
brick  pavement  that  led  from  the  gate  to  the  front  door. 
Elsewhere  could  be  seen  daffodils,  irises,  peonies  just 
bursting  into  bloom,  and  long,  drooping  curves  of  bleeding- 
heart  hung  with  rose-and-white  pendents.  By  a  corner 
of  the  house  the  ground  was  indigo-dark  with  a  thick 
little  patch  of  squills. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Lois  to  find  the  old  man  himself, 
bareheaded  and  in  an  alpaca  house-jacket,  rooting  out 
weeds  on  the  lawn,  his  thin,  gray  locks  tossed  in  the 
breeze.  On  seeing  her  pause  and  look  over  the  clump  of 
wiegelia,  which  at  this  point  smothered  the  rail,  he  raised 
himself,  dusted  the  earth  from  his  hands,  and  went  for- 
ward. They  talked  at  first  just  as  they  stood,  with  the 
budding  shrubs  between  them. 

"Oh,  Dr.  Hilary,  I'm  so  anxious  about  Rosie  Fay." 

"Are  you  now?"  As  neither  age  nor  gravity  could  sub- 
due the  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  so  sympathy  couldn't  quench 
it.     "Well,  lam  meself." 

"I  think  if  I  could  see  her  I  might  be  able  to  help  her. 
Or,  rather,"  she  went  on,  nervously,  "I  think  I  ought  to 
see  her,  whether  I  can  help  her  or  not.  Have  you  seen 
her?" 

"I  have  not,"  he  declared,  with  Irish  emphasis.  "The 
puss  takes  very  good  care  that  I  sha'n't,  so  she  does. 
She's  only  got  to  see  me  coming  in  the  gate  to  fly  off  to 
Duck  Rock;  and  that,  so  her  mother  tells  me,  is  all  they 
see  of  her  till  nightfall.  It's  three  days  now  that  she's 
been  struck  with  a  fit  of  melancholy,  or  maybe  four." 

"Do  you  know  what  the  trouble  is?" 

He  evaded  the  question.     "Do  you?" 

"I  do— partly." 

"Then  you'll  be  the  one  to  tackle  her.  As  yet  I  haven't 
asked.  I  prefer  to  know  no  more  about  people  than  what 
they  tell  me  themselves." 

She  found  it  possible  to  secure  his  aid  on  the  unexplained 
ground  that  there  had  been  a  misunderstanding  between 

230 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

her  husband  and  herself,  on  the  one  side,  and  Jasper  Fay- 
on  the  other.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  can  help  her.  I  dare 
say  I  can't.     But  if  I  could  only  see  her — " 

"Well,  then,  you  shall  see  her.  Just  wait  a  minute 
while  I  change  me  coat  and  I'll  go  along  with  you." 

On  the  way  up  the  hill  Lois  questioned  him  about  the 
Fays.     "Did  you  know  much  of  the  boy?" 

"Enough  to  see  that  he  wasn't  a  thief — not  by  nature, 
that  is.  He's  what  might  have  been  expected  from  his 
parents — the  stuff  out  of  which  they  make  revolutionists 
and  anarchists.  He  came  into  the  world  with  desires 
thwarted,  as  you  might  say,  and  a  detairmination  to  get 
even.  He  didn't  steal;  he  took  money.  He  took  money 
because  they  needed  it  at  home,  and  other  people  had  it. 
He  took  it  more  in  protest  than  in  greed,  if  that's  any 
excuse  for  him." 

"The  mother  is  better,  isn't  she?" 

"She's  clothed  and  in  her  right  mind,  if  she'll  only  stay 
that  way.  She  gets  into  one  of  her  old  tantrums  every 
now  and  then;  but  I'm  in  hopes  that  the  daughter's 
trouble  will  end  them." 

This  hope  seemed  to  be  partially  fulfilled  in  the  wel- 
coming way  in  which  the  door  was  opened  to  their  knock. 
"I've  brought  you  me  friend,  Mrs.  Thor  Masterman," 
was  the  old  gentleman's  form  of  introduction.  "She 
wants  to  see  Rosie.  If  Fay  makes  any  trouble,  tell  him 
it's  my  wish." 

"I've  really  only  come  to  see  Rosie,  Mrs.  Fay,"  Lois 
explained,  not  without  nervousness,  when  the  two  women 
were  alone  on  the  door-step.  "No,  I  won't  go  in,  thank 
you,  not  if  she's  anywhere  about  the  place.  I'm  really 
very  anxious  to  have  a  talk  with  her." 

Having  feared  a  hostile  reception,  she  was  relieved  to  be 
answered  with  a  certain  fierce  cordiality.  "I'm  sure  I 
hope  you'll  get  it.     It's  more'n  her  father  and  I  can  do." 

"Perhaps  she'd  talk  to  me.  Girls  often  will  talk  to  a — 
to  a  stranger,  when  they  won't  to  one  of  their  own." 

231 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Well,  you  can  try."  In  spite  of  the  coldness  of  the 
handsome  features,  something  in  the  nature  of  a  new  life, 
a  new  softening  humanity,  was  struggling  to  assert  itself. 
"We  can't  get  a  word  out  of  her.  She'll  neither  speak, 
nor  sleep,  nor  eat,  nor  do  a  hand's  turn.  It's  the  work 
that  bothers  me  most — not  so  much  that  it  needs  to  be 
done  as  because  it  'd  be  a  relief  to  her."  She  added,  with 
a  shy  wistfulness  that  contrasted  oddly  with  the  hard 
glint  in  her  eyes,  "I've  found  that  out  myself." 

"Have  you  any  idea  where  she  is?" 

She  pointed  toward  Duck  Rock.  "Oh,  I  suppose  she's 
over  there.  She  was  to  have  picked  the  cucumbers  this 
morning,  but  I  see  she  hasn't  done  it." 

"Has  Mr.  Fay  told  you  what  the  trouble  is?" 

"Well,  he  has.  But  then  he's  so  romantic.  Always 
was.  Land's  sake!  I  don't  pay  any  attention  to  young 
people's  goings-on.  Seen  too  much  of  it  in  my  own 
day.  I  don't  say  that  the  young  fellow  hasn't  been  foolish 
— and  I  don't  say — you'll  excuse  me! — that  Rosie  ain't 
just  as  good  as  he  is,  even  if  he  is  Archie  Masterman's 
son—" 

"Oh  no,  nor  I,"  Lois  hastened  to  interpose. 

"But  there's  nothing  wrong.  I've  asked  her — and  I 
know.     I'm  sure  of  it." 

Lois  spoke  eagerly.     "Oh  yes;   so  am  I." 

"So  that  there's  that."  She  went  on  with  a  touch  of 
her  old  haughtiness  of  spirit:  "And  she's  every  mite  as 
good  as  he  is.  It's  all  nonsense,  Fay's  talking  as  if  it 
was  some  young  lord  who'd  jilted  a  girl  beneath  him. 
Young  lord,  indeed!  I'll  young  lord  him,  if  he  ever  comes 
my  way.  I  tell  Rosie  not  to  demean  herself  to  grieve 
for  them  that  are  no  better  than  herself.  It's  nothing  but 
romantics,"  she  explained  further.  "I've  no  patience 
with  Fay — talking  as  if  some  one  ought  to  shoot  some  one 
or  commit  murder.  That's  the  way  Matt  began.  Fay 
ought  to  know  better  at  his  time  of  life.  I  declare  he  has 
no  more  sense  than  Rosie." 

232 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Lois  had  not  expected  to  be  called  upon  to  defend  Fay, 
but  she  said,  "I  suppose  he  naturally  feels  indignant 
when  he  sees — " 

"There's  a  desperate  streak  in  Fay,"  the  woman  broke 
in,  uneasily,  "and  Rosie  takes  after  him.  For  the  matter 
of  that,  she  takes  after  us  both — for  I'm  sure  I've  been 
gloomy  enough.  There's  been  something  lacking  in  us 
all,  like  cooking  without  salt.  I  see  that  now  as  plain  as 
plain,  though  I  can't  get  Fay  to  believe  me.  You  might 
as  well  talk  to  a  stone  wall  as  talk  to  Fay  when  he's 
got  his  nose  stuck  into  a  book.  I  hate  the  very  name  of 
that  Carlyle;  and  that  Darwin,  he's  another.  They're 
his  Bible,  I  tell  him,  and  he  don't  half  understand  what 
they  mean.  It's  Duck  Rock,"  she  went  on,  with  a  quiver 
of  her  fine  lips,  while  her  hands  worked  nervously  at  the 
corner  of  her  apron — "it's  Duck  Rock  that  I'm  most 
afraid  of.  It  kind  o'  haunted  me  all  the  time  I  was  sick ; 
and  it  kind  o'  haunts  Rosie." 

"Then  I'll  go  and  see  if  she's  there,"  Lois  said,  as  she 
turned  away,  leaving  the  austere  figure  to  stare  after  her 
with  eyes  that  might  have  been  those  of  the  woman  de- 
livered from  the  seven  devils. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  for  Lois  to  find  her  way  among 
the  old  apple-trees — of  which  one  was  showing  an  early 
blossom  or  two  on  the  sunny  side — to  the  boulevard 
below,  and  thence  to  the  wood  running  up  the  bluff. 
Though  she  had  not  been  here  since  the  berry-picking  days 
of  childhood,  she  knew  the  spot  in  which  Rosie  was  likely 
to  be  found.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  having  climbed  the 
path  that  ran  beneath  oaks  and  through  patches  of  brakes, 
spleenwort,  and  lady-ferns,  she  was  astonished  to  hear  a 
faint,  plaintive  singing,  and  stopped  to  listen.  The  voice 
was  poignantly  thin  and  sweet,  with  the  frail,  melancholy 
sound  she  had  heard  from  distant  shepherds'  pipes  in 
Switzerland.  Had  she  not,  after  a  few  seconds,  rec- 
ognized the  air,  she  would  have  been  unable  to  detect 
the  words: 

16  233 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Ah,  dinna  ye  mind,  Lord  Gregory, 
By  bonnie  Irvinside, 
Where  first  I  owned  the  virgin  love 
I  long,  long  had  denied?" 

Though  the  singer  was  invisible,  Lois  knew  she  could 
not  be  far  away,  since  the  voice  was  too  weak  to  carry. 
She  was  about  to  go  forward  when  the  faint  melody  began 
again: 

"An  exile  from  my  father's  ha' 
And  a'  for  loving  thee; 
At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown, 
If  love  it  may  na'  be." 

Placing  the  voice  now  as  near  the  great  oak-tree  circled 
by  a  seat,  just  below  the  point  where  the  ascending 
bluff  broke  fifty  feet  to  the  pond  beneath,  Lois  went 
rapidly  up  the  last  few  yards  of  the  ascent. 

Rosie  was  seated  with  her  back  to  the  gnarled  trunk, 
while  she  looked  out  over  the  half-mile  of  dancing  blue 
wavelets  to  where,  on  the  other  side,  the  brown,  wooden 
houses  of  the  Thorley  estate  swept  down  to  the  shore. 
She  rose  on  seeing  the  visitor  approach,  showing  a  startled 
disposition  to  run  away.  This  she  might  have  done  had 
not  Lois  caught  her  by  the  hand  and  detained  her. 

"I  know  all  about  everything,  Rosie — about  every- 
thing." 

She  meant  that  she  understood  the  situation  not  only 
as  regarding  one  brother,  but  as  regarding  both.  Rosie's 
response  was  without  interest  or  curiosity.     "  Do  you?" 

"Yes,  Rosie;  and  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  it.  Let 
us  sit  down." 

Still  holding  the  girl's  hands  in  a  manner  that  compelled 
her  to  reseat  herself,  she  examined  the  little  face  for  the 
charm  that  had  thrown  such  a  spell  on  Thor.  With  a 
pang  she  owned  to  herself  that  she  found  it.  No  one 
could  look  at  Thor  with  that  expression  of  entreaty  with- 
out reaching  all  that  was  most  tender  in  his  soul. 

234 


■K*    7f 


WOll. I)    VOI       BE     HAIM'Y     WITH     HIM     IF     HE    CAME     BA(  K.J 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

For  the  moment,  however,  that  point  must  be  allowed 
to  pass.  "Not  yet!  Not  yet!"  something  cried  to  the 
passion  that  was  trying  to  get  control  of  her.  She  went  on 
earnestly,  almost  beseechingly:  "I  know  just  what  hap- 
pened, Rosie  dear,  and  how  hard  it's  been  for  you;  and 
I  want  you  to  let  me  help  you." 

There  was  no  light  in  Rosie's  chrysoprase-colored  eyes. 
Her  voice  was  listless.     "What  can  you  do?" 

Put  to  her  in  that  point-blank  way,  Lois  found  the 
question  difficult.  She  could  only  answer:  "I  can  be 
with  you,  Rosie.    "We  can  be  side  by  side." 

"There  wouldn't  be  any  good  in  that.  I'd  rather  be  left 
alone." 

"Oh,  but  there  would  be  good.  We  should  strengthen 
each  other.  I — I  need  help,  too.  I  should  find  it  partly, 
if  I  could  do  anything  for  you." 

Rosie  surveyed  her  friend,  not  coldly,  but  with  dull  de- 
tachment. "Do  you  think  Claude  will  come  back  to 
me?" 

"What  do  you  think,  yourself?" 

"I  don't  think  he  will."  She  added,  with  a  catch  in 
her  breath  like  that  produced  by  a  sudden,  darting  pain, 
"I  know  he  won't." 

"Would  you  be  happy  with  him  if  he  did?" 

"I  shouldn't  care  whether  I  was  happy  or  not — if  he'd 
come." 

Lois  thought  it  the  part  of  wisdom  to  hold  out  no  hope. 
"Then,  since  we  believe  he  won't  come,  isn't  it  better  to 
face  it  with — " 

"I  don't  see  any  use  in  facing  it.  You  might  as  well 
ask  a  plant  to  face  it  when  it's  pulled  up  by  the  roots  and 
thrown  out  into  the  sun.     There's  nothing  left  to  face." 

"But  you're  not  pulled  up  by  the  roots,  Rosie.  Your 
roots  are  still  in  the  soil.     You've  people  who  need  you — " 

Rosie  made  a  little  gesture,  with  palms  outward.  "  I've 
given  them  all  I  had.     I'm — I'm — empty." 

"Yes,  you  feel  so  now.     That's  natural.     We  do  feel 

235 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

empty  of  anything  more  to  give  when  there's  been  a  great 
drain  on  us.  But  somehow  it's  the  people  who've  given 
most  who  always  have  the  power  to  go  on  giving — after  a 
little  while.     With  time—" 

The  girl  interrupted,  not  impatiently,  but  with  vacant 
indifference.  "What's  the  good  of  time — when  it's  going 
to  be  always  the  same?" 

"The  good  of  time  is  that  it  brings  comfort — " 

"I  don't  want  comfort.     I'd  rather  be  as  I  am." 

"That's  perfectly  natural — for  now.  But  time  passes 
whether  we  will  or  no;  and  whether  we  will  or  no,  it 
softens — " 

"Time  can't  pass  if  you  won't  let  it." 

"Why — why,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean — just  that." 

Lois  clasped  the  girl's  hands  desperately.  "But,  Rosie, 
you  must  live.  Life  has  a  great  deal  in  store  for  you  still — 
perhaps  a  great  deal  of  happiness.  They  say  that  life 
never  takes  anything  from  us  for  which  it  isn't  prepared 
to  give  us  compensation,  if  we'll  only  accept  it  in  the  right 
way." 

Rosie  shook  her  head.     "  I  don't  want  it." 

Lois  tried  to  reach  the  dulled  spirit  by  another  channel. 
"But  we  all  have  disappointments  and  sorrows,  Rosie. 
I  have  mine.     I've  great  ones." 

The  aloofness  in  Rosie's  gaze  seemed  to  put  miles  between 
them.  "That  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  me.  If 
you  want  me  to  be  sorry  for  them — I'm  not.  I  can't  be 
sorry  for  any  one." 

In  her  desire  to  touch  the  frozen  springs  of  the  girl's 
emotions,  Lois  said  what  she  would  have  supposed  herself 
incapable  of  saying.  "Not  when  you  know  what  they 
are? — when  you  know  what  one  of  them  is,  at  any  rate! — 
when  you  know  what  one  of  them  must  be!  You're  the 
only  person  in  the  world  except  myself  who  can  know." 

Rosie's  voice  was  as  lifeless  as  before.  "I  can't  be 
sorry.     I  don't  know  why — but  I  can't  be." 

236 


»» 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Do  you  mean  that  you're  glad  I  have  to  suffer?" 

"  N-no.     I'm  not  glad — especially.     I  just — don't  care 

Lois  was  baffled.  The  impenetrable  iciness  was  more 
difficult  to  deal  with  than  active  grief.  She  made  her 
supreme  appeal.  "And  then,  Rosie,  then  there's — there's 
God." 

Rosie  looked  vaguely  over  the  lake  and  said  nothing. 
If  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  anything,  it  was  on  the  quivering 
balance  of  a  kingfisher  in  the  air.  When  with  a  flash  of 
silver  and  blue  he  swooped,  and,  without  seeming  to  have 
touched  the  water,  went  skimming  away  with  a  fish  in 
his  bill,  her  eyes  wandered  slowly  back  in  her  companion's 
direction. 

Lois  made  another  attempt.     "You  believe  in  God, 
don't  you?" 
There  was  a  second's  hesitation.     "I  don't  know  as  I 
do." 

The  older  woman  spoke  with  the  pleading  of  distress. 
"But  there  is  a  God,  Rosie." 

There  was  the  same  brief  hesitation.  "I  don't  care 
whether  there  is  or  not." 

Though  Lois  could  get  no  further,  it  hurt  her  to  see  the 
look  of  relief  in  the  little  creature's  face  when  she  rose  and 
said:  "You'd  rather  I'd  go  away,  wouldn't  you?  Then 
I  will  go;  but  it  won't  be  for  long.  I'm  not  going  to 
leave  you  to  yourself.  I'm  coming  back  soon.  I  shall 
come  back  again  to-day.  If  you're  not  at  home,  I'll 
follow  you  up  here." 

She  waited  for  some  sign  of  protest,  but  Rosie  sat  silent 
and  impassive.  Though  courtesy  kept  her  dumb,  it 
couldn't  conceal  the  air  of  resigned  impatience  with  which 
she  awaited  her  visitor's  departure. 

Lois  looked  down  at  her  helplessly.  In  sheer  incapacity 
to  affect  the  larger  issues,  she  took  refuge  in  the  smaller. 
"Isn't  it  near  your  dinner-time?  I'm  going  your  way. 
We  could  go  along  together." 

"I  don't  want  any  dinner.     I'll  go  home — by  and  by." 

237 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE   ANGELS 

Lois  felt  herself  dismissed.  "Very  well,  Rosie.  I'll  say 
good-by  for  now.  But  it  will  only  be  for  a  little  while. 
You  understand  that,  don't  you?  I'm  not  going  to  let 
you  throw  me  off.  I'm  going  to  cling  to  you.  I've  got 
the  right  to  do  it,  because — because  the  very  thing  that 
makes  you  unhappy — makes  me." 

In  the  eyes  that  Rosie  lifted  obliquely  Lois  read  such 
unutterable  things  that  she  turned  away.  She  carried 
that  look  with  her  as  she  went  down  the  hill  beneath  the 
oaks  and  between  the  sunlit  patches  of  brakes,  spleen  wort, 
and  lady-ferns.  What  scenes,  what  memories,  had  called 
it  up?  What  part  in  those  scenes  and  memories  had 
been  played  by  Thor?  What  had  been  the  actual  experi- 
ence between  this  girl  and  him?  Would  she  ever  know? 
Had  she  better  know?  What  should  she  do  if  she  were 
to  know?  Once  more  the  questions  she  had  been  trying 
to  repress  urged  themselves  for  answer;  but  once  more  she 
controlled  herself  through  the  counsel  of  the  inner  voice: 
"Not  yet!     Not  yet!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BUT  after  Lois  had  gone  Rosie  came  to  life  again. 
That  is,  she  entered  once  more  the  conditions  in  which 
her  mind  was  free  to  tread  its  round  of  grief.  Lois  kept 
her  out  of  them.  Her  father  and  mother  did  the  same. 
Household  duties  and  the  tasks  of  the  hothouse  and  the 
necessity  for  eating  and  sleeping  and  speaking  did  the 
same.  She  turned  from  them  all  with  a  weariness  as  con- 
suming as  a  sickness  unto  death. 

She  had  done  so  from  the  instant  when,  crouching 
behind  the  vines  of  the  cucumber-house,  with  all  her  senses 
strained,  she  perceived  by  the  mere  rustling  of  the  leaves 
that  Claude  was  making  his  way  down  the  long,  green 
aisle.  She  knew  then  that  it  was  the  end.  If  there  had 
been  no  other  cause  of  rupture  between  them,  the  girl  who 
kept  ten  or  twelve  servants  would  have  created  it.  Rosie 
knew  enough  of  Claude  to  be  aware  that  love  could  not 
bear  down  the  scale  against  this  princeliness  of  living. 
There  would  be  so  such  repentance  and  reaction  on  his 
part  as  she  had  experienced  with  Thor.  Once  he  was 
gone,  he  was  gone.     It  was  the  end. 

The  soft  opening  and  closing  of  the  hothouse  door  as  he 
went  out  reached  her  like  a  sigh,  a  last  sigh,  a  dying  sigh, 
after  which — nothing!  Rosie  expected  nothing — but  she 
waited.  She  waited  as  watchers  wait  round  a  death-bed 
for  the  possibility  of  one  more  breath;  but  none  came. 
She  stirred  then  and  rose.  She  rose  mechanically,  brushing 
the  earth  from  her  clothing,  and  began  again  the  inter- 
rupted task  of  picking  the  superfluous  female  flowers  and 
letting  them  flutter  downward. 

239 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

It  was  when  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  third  row 
and  was  about  to  turn  into  the  fourth  that  the  sense  of 
the  impossibility  of  going  on  swept  over  her.  "Oh,  I 
can't!"  She  dropped  her  arms  to  her  side.  "I  can't. 
I  can't."  She  meant  only  that  she  couldn't  go  on  just 
then;  but  in  the  back  of  her  mind  there  was  the  conviction 
that  she  would  never  go  on  again. 

She  continued  to  stand  with  arms  hanging  and  head 
drooped  to  one  side,  closed  in  by  vines,  with  flowers  of  the 
hue  of  light  around  her  like  a  halo,  and  bees  murmuring 
among  them.  It  was  not  merely  that  she  was  listless  and 
incapable;  the  world  seemed  to  have  dropped  away. 
She  was  marooned  on  a  rock,  with  an  ocean  of  nothingness 
about  her.  Everything  she  wanted  had  gone — sunk, 
vanished.  It  had  come  within  sight,  like  mirage  to  the 
shipwrecked,  only  to  torture  her  with  what  she  couldn't 
have.  It  was  worse  than  if  it  had  never  shown  itself  at 
all.  Love  had  appeared  with  one  man,  money  with  the 
other.  Love  and  money  were  two  of  the  three  things  she 
cared  for;  the  poor,  shiftless  family  was  the  third.  Since 
the  first  two  had  gone,  the  last  must  follow  them.  Quite 
consciously  and  deliberately  Rosie  lifted  her  hands  with  a 
little  lamentable  effort,  letting  them  drop  again,  and  so 
renounced  her  burden. 

She  crept  back  to  the  spot  whence  she  had  risen,  and 
lay  down.  There  was  a  kind  of  ritual  in  the  act.  It  was 
not  now  a  mere  stricken,  physical  crouching  as  when  she 
had  turned  away  from  Claude.  It  was  something  more 
significant.  It  was  withdrawal  from  work,  from  life,  from 
all  the  demands  she  had  put  forth  so  fiercely. 

Renouncing  these,  Rosie  also  renounced  Claude.  It 
was  a  proof  of  the  degree  to  which  she  had  dismissed  him 
that  when,  a  half-hour  later,  she  heard  a  rustling  in  the 
vines  behind  her  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  he  might 
have  come  back.  She  knew  already  that  he  would  never 
come  back.  The  fatalism  of  her  little  soul  left  her  none 
of  those  uncertainties  which  are  safeguards  against  de- 

240 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

spair.     She  raised  her  head  and  looked;    but  she  saw- 
exactly  the  person  she  knew  she  would  see. 

Antonio  grinned,  and  announced  dinner.  The  sight  of 
his  young  mistress  half  sitting,  half  lying  on  the  ground 
struck  him  as  droll. 

Rosie  got  up  and  brushed  herself  again.  She  knew  it 
must  be  dinner-time.  The  fact  had  been  at  the  back  of  her 
mind  all  through  these  minutes  of  comforting  negation. 
She  should  have  been  in  the  house  laying  the  table  while 
her  mother  cooked  the  meal.  It  was  the  first  time  in 
years  that  she  had  rebelled  against  a  duty.  It  was  not 
exactly  rebellion  now.  It  was  something  more  serious 
than  that.  She  realized  it  as  she  stood  where  she  was, 
with  hands  hanging  limply,  and  said  to  herself,  "  I've  quit." 

Nevertheless,  she  emerged  slowly  from  the  jungle  of 
vines  and  followed  Antonio  down  the  long,  rustling  aisle. 
There  was  a  compulsion  in  the  day's  routine  to  which  she 
felt  the  necessity  of  yielding.  She  had  traversed  half  the 
length  of  the  greenhouse  before  it  came  to  her  that  it 
was  precisely  to  the  day's  routine  that  she  couldn't  return. 
Anything  was  better  than  that.  Any  fate  was  preferable 
to  the  round  of  cooking  and  cleaning  and  seed-time  and 
harvest  of  which  every  detail  was  impregnated  with  the 
ambitions  she  had  given  up.  She  had  lived  through  these 
tasks  and  beyond  them  out  into  something  else — into  a 
great  emptiness  in  which  her  spirit  found  a  kind  of  ease. 
She  could  no  more  go  back  to  them  than  a  released  soul 
could  go  back  to  earth. 

In  the  yard  she  stood  looking  at  the  poor,  battered  old 
house.  Inside,  her  father,  who  had  probably  by  this  time 
returned  from  town,  would  be  sitting  down  to  table. 
Antonio — to  save  the  serving  of  two  sets  of  meals — would 
be  sitting  down  with  him.  Her  mother  would  be  bringing 
something  from  the  kitchen,  holding  a  hot  platter  with  the 
corner  of  her  apron.  If  she  went  in  her  mother  would  sit 
down,  too,  while  she  herself  would  do  the  running  to  and 
fro  between  the  table  and  the  pantry  or  the  stove.     She 

241 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

would  snatch  a  bite  for  herself  in  the  intervals  of  attend- 
ance. 

Rosie  revolted.  She  revolted  not  against  the  drudgery, 
which  was  part  of  the  matter-of-course  of  living  unless  one 
"kept  a  girl";  she  revolted  against  the  living  itself.  It 
was  all  over  for  her.  In  proof  that  it  was  she  turned  her 
back  on  it. 

Her  moving  away  was  at  first  without  purpose.  If  her 
feet  strayed  into  the  familiar  path  that  ran  down  the  hill 
between  the  hothouses  and  the  apple-trees  it  was  because 
there  was  no  other  direction  to  take.  She  hadn't  meant  to 
go  up  through  the  wood  to  Duck  Rock  before  she  found 
herself  doing  it.  The  newly  leafing  oaks  were  a  shimmer  of 
bronze-green  above  her,  while  she  trod  on  young  ferns 
that  formed  a  carpet  such  as  was  never  woven  by  hands. 
Into  it  were  worked  white  star-flowers  without  number, 
with  an  occasional  nodding  trillium.  The  faint,  bitter 
scent  of  green  things  too  tender  as  yet  to  be  pungent  rose 
from  everything  she  crushed.  She  was  not  soothed  by 
nature,  like  Thor  Masterman.  She  had  too  much  to  do 
with  the  raising  of  plants  for  sale  to  take  much  interest 
in  what  the  earth  produced  without  money  and  without 
price.  If  it  had  not  been  that  her  mind  was  as  nearly 
as  possible  empty  of  thought,  she  wouldn't  have  paused 
to  watch  an  indigo-bunting,  whose  little  brown  mate  was 
probably  near  by,  hop  upward  from  branch  to  branch  of  a 
solitary  juniper,  his  body  like  a  blue  flower  in  the  dark 
boughs,  while  he  poured  forth  a  song  that  waxed  louder 
as  he  mounted.  She  observed  him  idly  and  passed 
onward  because  there  was  nothing  but  that  to  do. 

Her  heart  was  too  dead  to  feel  much  emotion  when  she 
emerged  on  the  spot  where  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
keep  her  trysts  with  Claude.  Her  trysts  with  Claude 
had  been  at  night;  she  had  other  sorts  of  association  with 
this  summit  in  the  daytime.  All  her  life  she  had  been 
used  to  come  here  berrying.  Here  she  came,  too,  with 
Polly  Wilson  and  other  girl-friends — when  she  had  any — 

242 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

for  strolls  and  gossiping.  Here,  too,  Jim  Breen  had  made 
love  to  her,  and  Matt's  companion  of  the  grocery.  The 
spot  being  therefore  not  wholly  dedicated  to  memories  of 
Claude,  she  could  approach  it  calmly. 

She  sat  down  on  the  familiar  seat  that  circled  the  oak- 
tree  and  gave  the  best  view  over  the  pond.  The  oak-tree 
was  the  last  and  highest  of  the  wood.  Beyond  it  there 
was  only  an  upward-climbing  fringe  of  grass,  starred  with 
cinquefoil  and  wild  strawberry — and  then  the  precipice. 
It  was  but  a  miniature  precipice  that  broke  to  a  miniature 
sea,  but  it  gave  an  impression  of  grandeur.  Sitting  on  the 
bench,  with  one's  head  against  the  oak,  one  could,  if  one 
chose,  see  nothing  but  sky  and  water.  There  was  nothing 
but  sky  and  water  and  air.  In  the  noon  stillness  there 
was  not  even  a  boat  on  the  lake  nor  a  bird  on  the  wing. 
The  only  sounds  were  those  of  a  hammering  far  over  on 
the  Thorley  estate,  the  humming  of  an  electric  car,  which 
at  this  distance  was  no  more  disturbing  than  the  murmur  of 
a  bee,  and  the  song  of  the  indigo-bunting,  fluted  now  from 
the  tree-top.  To  Rosie  it  was  peace,  peace  without  pleas- 
ure, but  without  pain — as  nearly  as  might  be  that  absorp- 
tion into  nothingness  for  which  she  yearned  as  the  Bud- 
dhist seeks  absorption  into  God. 

She  rested,  not  suffering — at  least  not  suffering  any- 
thing she  could  feel.  She  was  beyond  grief.  The  only 
thing  she  was  not  beyond  was  the  horror  of  returning  to 
the  interests  that  had  hitherto  made  up  life. 

As  for  Claude,  she  could  think  of  him,  when  she  began 
doing  so,  with  singular  detachment.  The  whole  episode 
with  him  might  have  been  ended  years  before.  It  was 
like  something  which  no  longer  perturbs,  though  the 
memory  of  it  is  vivid.  She  could  go  back  and  reconstruct 
the  experience  from  the  first.  Up  to  the  present  she  had 
never  found  any  opportunity  of  doing  that,  since  each 
meeting  with  him  was  so  soul-filling  in  itself.  Now  that 
she  had  the  leisure,  she  found  herself  using  it  as  the 
afternoon  wore  on. 

243 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Being  on  the  spot  where  she  had  first  met  him,  she  could 
re-enact  the  scene.  She  knew  the  very  raspberry-bine 
at  which  she  had  been  at  work.  She  went  to  it  and  lifted 
it  up.  It  was  a  spiny,  red-brown,  sprawling  thing  just 
beginning  to  clothe  itself  with  leaves.  It  had  been 
breast-high  when  she  had  picked  the  fruit  from  it,  and 
Claude  had  stood  over  there,  in  that  patch  of  common 
brakes  which  then  rose  above  his  knees,  but  was  now  a 
bed  of  delicate,  elongated  sprays  leaning  backward  with 
incomparable  grace.  She  found  the  heart  to  sing — her 
voice,  which  used  to  be  strong  enough,  yielding  her  but 
the  ghost  of  song,  as  the  notes  of  an  old  spinnet  give 
back  the  ghost  of  music  long  ago  dead: 

"Oh,  mirk,  mirk  is  the  midnight  hour, 
And  loud  the  tempest's  roar; 
A  waeful  wanderer  seeks  thy  tower, 
Lord  Gregory  ope  thy  door." 

She  could  not  remember  having  so  much  as  hummed  this 
air  since  the  day  Claude  had  interrupted  it;  but  she  went 
on,  unfalteringly,  to  the  lines  at  which  he  had  broken  in: 

"At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown, 
If  love  it  may  na'  be — " 

She  didn't  falter  even  here;  she  only  allowed  her  voice 
to  trail  away  in  the  awed  pianissimo  into  which  he  had 
frightened  her.  She  stopped  then  and  went  through  the 
conversation  that  ensued  on  the  memorable  day,  and  of 
which  the  very  words  were  imprinted  on  her  heart: 
"  Isn't  it  Rosie?  I'm  Claude."  She  hadn't  smiled  on  that 
occasion,  but  she  smiled  to  herself  now — a  ghost  of  a  smile 
to  match  her  ghost  of  a  voice — because  his  tone  had  been 
so  sweet.  She  had  never  heard  anything  like  it  before — 
and  since,  only  in  his  moments  of  endearment. 

But  she  went  home  at  last.  She  went  home  because  the 
May  afternoon  grew  chilly,  and  in  the  gathering  of  shadows 

244 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

beneath  the  oaks  there  was  something  eery.  Expecting  a 
scene  or  a  scolding,  she  was  surprised  to  find  both  father 
and  mother  calm.  They  had  evidently  exchanged  views 
concerning  her,  deciding  that  she  had  better  indulge  her 
whims.  When  she  refused  to  eat  they  made  little  or  no 
protest,  and  only  once  during  the  night  did  her  mother 
cross  the  passage  to  ask  fretfully  why  she  didn't  go  to  bed. 
On  the  following  day  there  was  the  same  silent  acknowledg- 
ment of  her  right  to  refuse  to  work  and  of  her  freedom 
to  absent  herself.  Rosie  was  quite  clear  as  to  what  had 
taken  place.  Antonio  had  betrayed  the  fact  of  Claude's 
visit,  and  her  parents  had  scented  a  hopeless  love-affair. 
Rosie  was  indifferent.  Her  love-affairs  were  her  own 
business;  she  owed  neither  explanation  nor  apology  to 
any  one.  So  long  as  her  parents  conceded  her  liberty  to 
come  and  go,  to  nibble  rather  than  to  eat,  and  not  to 
speak  when  spoken  to,  she  was  content. 

They  conceded  this  all  through  that  week.  In  her 
presence  they  bore  themselves  with  timid  constraint,  and 
followed  her  with  stealthy  eyes  that  watched  for  every 
shadow  that  crossed  her  face;  but  they  let  her  alone.  She 
■was  as  free  as  wind  all  Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday, 
Saturday,  and  Sunday. 

During  those  days  she  continued  to  live  in  the  exulta- 
tion of  the  void.  There  was  nothing  to  fear  any  more. 
The  worst  had  happened  to  her  that  could  happen,  and 
so,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  she  was  safe.  Never  since 
she  had  begun  to  think  had  she  been  so  free  from  misgiving 
and  foreboding  as  to  what  each  new  day  would  bring 
forth.  No  day  could  bring  forth  anything  now  that 
could  hurt  her. 

By  Saturday  the  nerves  of  sensation  began  to  show 
signs  of  recovering  themselves  and  returning  to  activity. 
In  thinking  of  Claude,  and  living  through  again  her 
meetings  with  him,  there  were  moments  like  pangs,  of 
longing,  of  passion,  of  despair,  as  the  case  might  be,  that 
went  as  quickly  as  they  came.     But  they  didn't  frighten 

245 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

her.  If  they  were  premonitions  of  a  state  of  anguish — 
why,  there  had  been  so  much  anguish  in  her  episode  with 
Claude  that  there  couldn't  be  much  more  now.  If  any- 
thing, she  welcomed  it.  It  would  be  more  as  if  he  was 
back  with  her.  The  void  was  peaceful.  But  the  void 
filled  with  suffering  on  his  account  would  be  better  still. 
Anything! — anything  but  to  be  forced  to  go  back! 

But  on  Monday  it  was  the  urgency  of  going  back  that 
confronted  her.  She  had  come  down  in  the  morning  to 
find  her  breakfast  laid  in  just  the  way  she  liked  it — tea, 
a  soft-boiled  egg,  buttered  toast,  and,  as  a  special  tempta- 
tion to  a  capricious  appetite,  a  dab  of  marmalade.  She 
sat  down  to  the  table  unwillingly,  sipping  at  the  tea  and 
nibbling  at  the  toast,  but  leaving  the  egg  and  the  mar- 
malade untouched.  In  her  mother's  bustling  to  and  fro 
she  felt  the  long-delayed  protest  in  the  atmosphere.  It 
came  while  her  mother  was  crossing  the  room  to  replace 
some  dishes  on  the  dresser. 

"Now,  my  girl,  buck  up.  Just  eat  your  breakfast  and 
set  to  work  and  stop  your  foolish  fancies.  If  you  don't 
look  out  you'll  get  yourself  where  I  was,  and  I  guess  it  '11 
take  more  than  Dr.  Hilary  to  pull  you  out."  She  added, 
as  she  returned  to  the  kitchen:  "Your  father  told  me  to 
tell  you  to  get  busy  on  the  cucumbers.  There's  a  lot  to 
be  picked.  He's  been  spannin'  them  and  finds  them 
ready." 

Rosie  made  use  of  her  privilege  of  not  answering.  When 
she  had  eaten  all  she  could  she  took  a  basket  and  made  her 
way  toward  the  cucumber-house  she  had  not  entered  since 
she  had  left  it  with  the  words,  "I've  quit."  It  was 
like  going  to  the  scaffold  to  drag  her  feet  across  the  yard; 
it  was  like  mounting  it  to  lift  the  latch  of  the  paintless 
door  and  feel  the  stifling,  pollen-laden  air  in  her  face. 
Nevertheless,  habit  took  her  in.  Habit  sent  her  eyes 
searching  among  the  lowest  stretches  of  the  vines,  where 
the  cool,  green  things  were  hanging.  Habit  caused  her 
to  stoop  and  span  them  with  her  rough  little  hand.     When 

246 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

her  father's  thumb  and  fingers  met  around  them  they 
were  ready  to  be  picked;  they  were  ready  when  her  own 
came  within  an  inch  of  doing  so. 

But  she  raised  herself  with  a  rebellious  impulse  of  her 
whole  person  before  she  had  picked  one.  She  had  picked 
hundreds  in  her  time;  she  had  picked  thousands.  She 
couldn't  begin  again.  With  the  first  one  she  gathered 
the  yoke  of  the  past  would  be  around  her  neck  once  more. 
She  couldn't  bear  it.  "I  can't.  I  can't."  With  the 
words  on  her  lips  she  slipped  out  by  the  door  at  the  far 
end  of  the  hothouse  and  sped  toward  her  refuge  on  Duck 
Rock. 

She  had  never  felt  it  as  so  truly  a  refuge  before.  Neither 
had  she  ever  before  needed  a  refuge  so  acutely.  She 
needed  it  to-day  because  the  memory  of  Claude  had  at 
last  become  a  living  thing,  and  every  sentient  part  of  her 
that  could  be  filled  with  grief  was  filled  with  it.  Grief 
had  come  suddenly;  it  was  creating  a  new  world  for  her. 
It  was  no  longer  a  peaceful  void;  it  was  a  world  of  wild 
passions,  wild  projects,  wild  things  she  would  do,  wild 
words  she  would  speak  if  ever  she  had  the  chance  to  speak 
them.  She  would  go  in  search  of  him!  She  would  find 
his  father  and  mother!  She  would  appeal  to  Thor !  She 
would  discover  the  girl  with  ten  or  twelve  servants  who 
had  come  between  them !  She  would  implore  them  all  to 
send  him  back!  She  would  drag  him  back!  She  would 
hang  about  his  neck  till  he  swore  never  again  to  leave 
her!  If  he  refused,  she  would  kill  him!  If  she  couldn't 
kill  him,  she  would  kill  herself!  Perhaps  if  she  killed 
herself  she  would  inflict  on  him  the  worst  suffering  of  all ! 

She  thought  about  that.  After  all,  it  was  the  thing 
most  practical.  The  other  impulses  were  not  practical. 
She  knew  that,  of  course.  She  could  humiliate  herself 
to  the  dust  without  affecting  him.  Up  to  to-day  she  had 
not  wanted  him  to  suffer;  but  now  she  did.  If  she  killed 
herself,  he  would  suffer.  However  long  he  lived,  or  how- 
ever many  servants  the  woman  he  married  would  be  able 

247 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

to  keep,  his  life  would  be  poisoned  by  the  memory  of 
what  he  had  done  to  her. 

Her  imagination  reveled  in  the  scenes  it  was  now  able 
to  depict.  Leaning  back  with  her  head  resting  against  the 
trunk  of  the  old  oak,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  viewed  the 
dramatic  procession  of  events  that  might  follow  on  that 
morning  and  haunt  Claude  Masterman  to  his  grave. 
She  saw  herself  leaping  from  the  rock;  she  saw  her  body 
washed  ashore,  her  head  and  hands  hanging  limp,  her 
long,  wet  hair  streaming;  she  saw  her  parents  mourning, 
and  Thor  remorseful,  and  Claude  absolutely  stricken. 
Her  efforts  rested  there.  Everything  was  subordinate 
to  the  one  great  fact  that  by  doing  this  she  could  make  the 
sword  go  through  his  heart.  She  went  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  and  peered  over.  Though  it  was  a  sheer  fifty  feet,  it 
didn't  seem  so  very  far  down.  The  water  was  blue  and 
lapping  and  inviting.     It  looked  as  if  it  would  be  easy. 

She  returned  to  her  seat.  She  knew  she  was  only  play- 
ing. It  relieved  the  tumult  within  her  to  pretend  that 
she  could  do  as  desperately  as  she  felt.  It  quieted  her. 
Once  she  saw  that  she  had  it  in  her  power  to  make  Claude 
unhappy,  something  in  her  spirit  was  appeased. 

She  began  the  little  comedy  all  over  again,  from  the 
minute  when  she  started  forth  from  home  on  the  mo- 
mentous day  to  fill  her  pan  with  raspberries.  She  traced 
her  steps  down  the  hill  and  up  through  the  glades  of  the 
bluff  wherever  the  ripe  raspberries  were  hanging.  She 
came  to  the  minute  when  her  stage  directions  called  for 
"Lord  Gregory,"  and  she  sang  it  with  the  same  thin, 
silvery  piping  which  was  all  she  could  contribute  now  to 
the  demand  of  drama.  It  was  both  an  annoyance  and  a 
surprise  to  hear  a  footfall  and  the  swish  of  robes  and  to 
turn  and  see  Lois  Willoughby. 

Beyond  the  fact  that  she  couldn't  help  it,  she  didn't 
know  why  she  became  at  once  so  taciturn  and  repellent. 
"Oh,  she'll  come  again,"  she  said  in  self -excuse,  and  with 
vague  ideas  of  atonement,  after  Lois  had  gone  away. 

248 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

Besides,  the  things  that  Lois  had  said  in  the  way  of 
solicitude,  sympathy,  and  God  made  no  appeal  to  her. 
If  she  felt  regret  it  was  from  obscure  motives  of  compas- 
sion, since  this  woman,  too,  had  missed  what  was  best  in 
love. 

She  would  have  returned  to  her  dream  had  her  dream 
returned  to  her;  but  Lois  had  broken  the  spell.  Rosie 
could  no  longer  get  the  ecstasies  of  re-enactment.  Re- 
enactment  itself  became  a  foolish  thing,  the  husk  of  what 
had  once  been  fruit.  It  was  a  new  phase  of  loss.  Every- 
thing went  but  her  misery  and  her  desire  to  strike  at 
Claude — that  and  the  sense  that  whatever  she  did,  and  no 
matter  how  elusive  she  made  herself,  she  would  have  to  go 
back  to  the  old  life  at  last.  She  struggled  against  the 
conviction,  but  it  settled  on  her  like  a  mist.  She  played 
again  with  the  raspberry-bine,  she  sang  "Lord  Gregory," 
she  peered  over  the  brink  of  the  toy  precipice — but  she 
evoked  nothing.  She  stood  as  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  as  she  dared,  whipping  and  lashing  and  taunting  her 
imagination  by  the  rashness  of  the  act.  Nothing  came 
but  the  commonplace  suggestion  that  even  if  she  fell  in, 
the  boat  which  had  appeared  on  the  lake,  and  from  which 
two  men  were  fishing,  would  rescue  her.  The  worst  she 
would  get  would  be  a  wetting  and  perhaps  a  cold.  She 
wouldn't  drown. 

Common  sense  took  possession  of  her.  The  thing  foi 
her  to  do,  it  told  her  cruelly,  was  to  go  back  and  pick  the 
cucumbers.  After  that  there  would  be  some  other  job. 
In  the  market-garden  business  jobs  were  endless,  especially 
in  spring.  She  could  set  about  them  with  a  better  heart 
since,  after  all  that  had  happened,  Archie  Masterman 
couldn't  refuse  now  to  renew  the  lease.  He  wouldn't  have 
the  face  to  refuse  it — so  common  sense  expressed  itself — 
when  his  son  had  done  her  such  a  wrong.  If  she  had  scored 
no  other  victory,  her  suffering  would  at  least  have  secured 
that. 

It  was  an  argument  of  which  she  couldn't  but  feel  the 
17  249 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

weight.  There  would  be  three  more  years  of  just  manag- 
ing to  live — three  more  years  of  sowing  and  planting  and 
watering  and  watching,  at  the  end  of  which  they  would 
not  quite  have  starved,  while  Matt  would  have  had  a  hole 
in  which  to  hide  himself  on  coming  out  of  jail.  Decidedly 
it  was  an  argument.  She  had  already  shown  her  willing- 
ness to  sell  herself;  and  this  would  apparently  prove  to  be 
her  price. 

Wearily,  when  noon  had  passed  and  afternoon  set  in, 
she  got  herself  to  her  feet.  Wearily  she  began  to  descend 
the  hill.  She  would  go  back  again  to  the  cucumbers. 
She  would  take  up  again  the  burden  she  had  thrown  down. 
She  would  bring  her  wild  heart  into  harness  and  tame  it  to 
hopelessness.     Common  sense  could  suggest  nothing  else. 

She  went  now  by  the  path,  because  it  was  tortuous  and 
less  direct  than  the  bee-line  over  fern.  She  paused  at 
every  excuse — now  to  watch  a  robin  hopping,  now  to  look 
at  a  pink  lady's-slipper  abloom  in  a  bed  of  spleenwort, 
now  for  no  reason  at  all.  Each  step  cost  her  a  separate 
act  of  renunciation;  each  act  of  renunciation  was  harder 
than  the  other.  But  successive  steps  and  successive  acts 
brought  her  down  the  hill  at  last. 

"I  can't.     I  can't." 

She  dragged  herself  a  few  paces  farther  still. 

"I  can't!    I  can't!" 

She  was  in  sight  of  the  boulevard,  where  a  gang  of  Finns 
were  working,  and  beyond  which  lay  the  ragged,  uncul- 
tivated outskirts  of  her  father's  land.  Up  through  a 
tangle  of  nettles  and  yarrow  she  could  see  the  zigzag 
path  which  had  been  the  rainbow  bridge  of  her  happiness. 
She  came  to  a  dead  stop,  the  back  of  her  hand  pressed 
against  her  mouth  fearfully.  "If  I  go  up  there,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "I  shall  never  come  down  again."  She  meant 
that  she  would  never  come  down  again  in  the  same  spirit. 
That  spirit  would  be  captured  and  slain.  She  herself  would 
be  captured  and  slain.  Nothing  would  live  of  her  but  a 
body  to  drudge  in  the  hothouse  to  earn  a  few  cents  a  day. 

250 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

Suddenly,  without  forming  a  resolution  or  directing 
an  intention,  she  turned  and  sped  up  the  hill.  At  first 
she  only  walked  rapidly;  but  the  walk  broke  into  a  run, 
and  the  run  into  a  swift  skimming  along  through  the 
trees  like  that  of  a  roused  partridge. 

And  yet  she  didn't  know  what  she  was  running  from. 
Something  within  her,  a  power  of  guardedness  or  that 
capacity  for  common  sense  which  had  made  its  last 
desperate  effort  to  get  the  upper  hand,  had  broken  down. 
All  she  could  yield  to  was  the  terror  that  paralyzed 
thought ;  all  she  could  respond  to  was  the  force  that  drew 
her  up  the  hill  with  its  awful  fascination.  "I  must  do 
it,  I  must,"  were  the  words  with  which  she  met  her  own 
impulse  to  resist.  If  her  confused  thought  could  have 
become  explanatory  it  would  have  said:  "I  must  get 
away  from  the  life  I've  known,  from  the  care,  from  the 
hope,  from  the  love.  I  must  do  something  that  will 
make  Claude  suffer;  I  must  frighten  him;  I  must  wound 
him;  I  must  strike  at  the  girl  who  has  won  him  away 
with  her  ten  or  twelve  servants.  And  there's  no  way  but 
this." 

Even  so  the  way  was  obscure  to  her.  She  was  taking  it 
without  seeing  whither  it  was  to  lead.  If  one  impulse 
warned  her  to  stop,  another  whipped  her  onward.  "I 
can't  stop!  I  can't  stop!"  she  cried  out,  when  warning 
became  alarm. 

For  flight  gave  impetus  to  itself.  It  was  like  release; 
it  was  a  kind  of  wild  glee.  She  was  as  a  bird  whose  wings 
have  been  bound,  and  who  has  worked  them  free  again. 
There  was  a  frenzy  in  sheer  speed. 

The  path  was  steep,  but  she  was  hardly  aware  of  so 
much  as  touching  it.  Fear  behind  and  anguish  within 
her  carried  her  along.  She  scarcely  knew  that  she  was 
running  breathlessly,  that  she  panted,  that  once  or  twice 
she  stumbled  and  fell.  Something  was  beckoning  to  her 
from  the  great,  safe,  empty  void — something  that  was 
nothing,  unless  it  was  peace  and  sleep — something  that 

251 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  its  abode  in  the  free  spaces  of  the  wind  and  the  blue 
caverns  of  the  sky  and  the  kindly  lapping  water — some- 
thing infinite  and  eternal  and  restful,  in  whose  embrace 
she  was  due. 

At  the  edge  of  the  wood  she  had  a  last  terrifying  moment. 
The  raspberry-bine  was  there,  and  the  great  oak  with  the 
seat  around  it,  and  the  carpet  of  cinquefoil  and  wild 
strawberry.  She  gave  them  a  quick,  frightened  look,  like 
an  appeal  to  impede  her.  If  she  was  to  stop  she  must 
stop  now.  "But  I  can't  stop,"  she  seemed  to  fling  to  them, 
over  her  shoulder,  as  she  kept  on  to  where,  beyond  the 
highest  tip  of  greensward,  the  blue  level  of  the  lake 
appeared. 

The  boat  with  the  two  fishermen  was  nearer  the  shore 
than  when  she  had  observed  it  last.  "They'll  save  me! 
Oh,  they'll  save  me!"  she  had  time  to  whisper  to  herself, 
at  the  supreme  moment  when  she  left  everything  behind. 

There  followed  a  space  which  in  Rosie's  consciousness 
was  long.  She  felt  that  she  was  leaping,  flying,  out  into 
the  welcoming  void,  and  that  the  promise  of  rest  and 
peace  had  not  deceived  her. 

But  it  was  in  the  shock  of  falling  that  sanity  returned; 
and  all  that  the  tense  little  creature  had  been,  and  tried 
to  be,  and  couldn't  be,  and  longed  to  be,  and  feared  to  be, 
and  failed  to  be  broke  into  a  cry  at  which  the  fishermen 
dropped  their  rods. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

'"""THOR,  would  you  mind  if  I  went  away  for  a  little 

1    while?" 

He  looked  at  her  across  the  luncheon-table,  but  her  eyes 
were  downcast.  Though  she  endeavored  to  maintain  the 
non-committal  attitude  she  had  taken  up  at  breakfast,  she 
couldn't  meet  his  gaze. 

1 '  If  you  went  away !"  he  echoed,  blankly.  ' '  Why  should 
you  do  that?" 

"I've  been  to  see — "  She  found  a  difficulty  in  pro- 
nouncing the  name — "I've  been  to  see  Rosie.  She's 
rather — upset." 

Under  the  swift  lifting  of  her  lids  he  betrayed  his  self- 
consciousness.  "I  suppose  so."  He  kept  to  the  most 
laconic  form  of  speech  in  order  to  leave  no  opening  to  her 
penetration. 

"And  I  thought  if  I  could  take  her  away — " 

"Where  should  you  go?" 

"Oh,  anywhere.  That  wouldn't  matter.  To  New 
York,  perhaps.  That  might  interest  her.  But  anywhere, 
so  long  as — " 

He  got  out  his  consent  while  making  an  excuse  for  rising 
from  the  table.  The  conversation  was  too  difficult  to  sus- 
tain. It  was  without  looking  at  him  that  she  said,  as  he 
was  leaving  the  room: 

'Then  I'll  go  and  ask  her  at  once.  I  dare  say  she  won't 
come — but  I  can  try.  It  will  give  me  an  excuse  for  going 
back.     I  feel  worried  at  having  left  her  at  all." 

Between  three  and  four  that  afternoon  she  entered  her 

253 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

husband's  office  hurriedly.  It  was  Mrs.  Dearlove  who 
received  her.  "Do  you  know  where  Dr.  Masterman  is? 
Do  you  know  where  he  expected  to  call  this  afternoon?" 

Brightstone  consulted  a  card  hanging  on  the  wall. 
"He  was  to  'ave  seen  Mrs.  Gibbs,  'm — Number  10  Susan 
Street — some  time  through  the  day." 

Lois  made  no  secret  of  her  agitation.  "Have  they  a 
telephone?" 

"Oh,  no,  'm;  'ardly.     Only  a  poor  charwoman." 
"Was  he  going  anywhere  at  all  where  they  could  have  a 
telephone?" 

Mrs.  Dearlove  having  mentioned  the  possibilities,  Lois 
rang  up  house  after  house.  She  left  the  same  message 
everywhere:  Thor  was  to  be  asked  to  come  directly  to  his 
office,  where  she  was  awaiting  him.  It  was  after  four  when 
he  appeared. 

She  met  him  in  the  little  entry  and,  taking  him  by  the 
arm,  drew  him  into  the  waiting-room.  "Come  in,  Thor 
dear,  come  in."  She  knew  by  his  eyes  that  he  suspected 
6omething  of  what  she  had  to  tell. 

"Caught  me  at  the  Longyears',"  he  tried  to  say  in  a 
natural  voice,  but  he  could  hardly  force  the  words  beyond 
his  lips. 

"It's  Rosie,  Thor,"  she  said,  instantly.  "She's  all 
right." 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  supporting  himself  on  the 
round  table  strewn  with  illustrated  papers  and  magazines 
for  the  entertainment  of  waiting  patients.  His  lips 
moved,  but  no  sound  passed  them.  Long,  dark  shadows 
streaked  the  pallor  of  his  face. 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  covering  his  hands  with  her 
own.  "She's  all  right,  Thor  dear.  .  .  now  ...  and  I  don't 
think  she'll  be  any  the  worse  for  it  in  the  end.  .  .  .  She  may 
be  the  better.  ...  We  can't  tell  yet.  .  .  .  But— but  you 
haven't  heard  it  in  the  village,  have  you?" 

He  shook  his  head,  perhaps  because  he  was  dazed,  per- 
haps because  he  didn't  trust  himself  to  speak. 

254 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"That's  good."  She  spoke  breathlessly.  "I  was  so 
afraid  you  might  ...  I  wanted  to  tell  you  myself  ...  so 
that  you  wouldn't — you  wouldn't  get  a  shock.  .  .  .  There's 
no  reason  for  a  shock — not  now,  Thor.  .  .  .  It's  only — it's 
only  .  .  .  just  what  I  was  afraid  of — what  I  spoke  of  at 
lunch.  .  .  .  She — she — she  did  it." 

He  found  strength  to  speak.     "She  did — what?" 

Lois  continued  the  same  breathless  way.  "She  threw 
herself  into  the  pond.  .  .  .  But  she's  all  right.  .  .  . 
Jim  Breen  and  Robbie  Willert  were  out  in  a  boat — 
fishing.  .  .  .  They  saw  her.  .  .  .  They  got  to  her  just  as 
she  went  down  the  second  time.  .  .  .  Jim  Breen  dived 
after  her  and  brought  her  up.  .  .  .  She  wasn't  uncon- 
scious very  long  .  .  .  and  fortunately  Dr.  Hill  was  close 
by — at  old  Mrs.  Jukes's  in  Schoolhouse  Lane.  ...  So 
she's  home  now  and  all  right,  or  nearly.  ...  I  arrived 
just  as  they  were  bringing  her  ashore.  .  .  .  She  was 
breathing  then.  ...  I  went  on  before  them  to  the 
house.  ...  I  told  Mrs.  Fay  .  .  .  and  Mr.  Fay.  ...  I 
saw  them  put  her  to  bed.  .  .  .  She's  all  right.  .  .  .  And 
then  I  came  here — to  tell  you,  Thor — " 

He  struggled  to  his  feet,  throwing  his  head  back  and 
clenching  his  fists.  "I  swear  to  God  that  if  I  ever  see 
Claude  again  I'll— I'll  kill  him!" 

Without  rising  she  caught  one  of  his  hands  and  pulled 
him  downward.  "Sit  down,  Thor,"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
of  command.  "You  mustn't  take  it  like  that.  You 
mustn't  make  things  worse  than  they  are.  They're  bad 
enough  as  it  is.  They're  so  bad — or  at  least  so  hard  for — 
for  some  of  us — that  we  must  do  everything  we  can  to 
make  it  possible  to  bear  them." 

He  sat  down  at  her  bidding;  but  with  elbows  resting 
on  the  table  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  She 
clasped  her  own  and  sat  looking  at  him.  That  is,  she 
sat  looking  at  his  strong  knuckles  and  at  the  shock  of 
dark  hair  that  fell  over  the  finger-tips  where  the  nails 
dug  into  his  forehead.     She  felt  a  great  pity  for  him ;  but 

255 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

a  pity  that  permitted  her  to  sit  there,  watchful,  detached, 
not  as  if  it  was  Thor — but  some  one  else. 

There  would  be  an  end  now  to  silences  and  conceal- 
ments. She  saw  that  already.  He  was  making  no 
further  attempt  to  keep  her  in  the  dark.  In  the  shock 
of  the  moment  all  the  barricades  he  had  built  around  his 
secret  life  had  fallen  like  the  walls  of  Jericho.  She  had 
nothing  to  do  but  walk  upward  and  inward  and  take 
possession.  All  was  open.  There  was  neither  shrine  nor 
sanctuary  any  longer.  It  was  no  privilege  to  be  admitted 
thus;  anybody  would  have  been  admitted  who  sat  beside 
him  as  she  was  sitting  now. 

But  in  the  end  the  paroxysm  passed  and  his  hands  came 
down. 

"I  know  it's  hard  for  you,  Thor — "  The  eyes  he 
turned  on  her  were  full  of  such  unspeakable  things  that 
she  stopped.  She  was  obliged  to  wait  till  he  looked  away 
again  before  she  could  go  on.  "I  know  it's  hard  for  you, 
Thor.  It's  hard  for — for  us  all.  But  my  point  is  that 
bitterness  or  violence  will  only  make  it  worse.  You  must 
remember — I  feel  that  I  must  remind  you  of  it — that 
you're  not  the — not  the  only  sufferer." 

He  bowed  his  head  into  his  hands  again,  but  without 
the  mad  anguish  of  a  few  minutes  earlier. 

"Where  so  much  is  intolerable,"  she  pursued,  "what 
we  have  to  do — each  one  of  us — is  to  see  how  tolerable  we 
can  make  things  for  every  one  else." 

He  raised  his  head  for  one  quick,  reproachful  glance. 
"Do  you  mean  tolerable  for — for  Claude?" 

'Yes,  I  do  mean  for  Claude.  We  sha'n't  have  to  pun- 
ish him." 

He  gave  her  another  look.  "Then  what  have  we  got  to 
do?" 

"  Nothing  that  isn't  kind — and  well  thought  out  before- 
hand. That's  really  the  important  thing.  When  one 
can't  move  without  hurting  some  one,  isn't  it  better  not 
to  move  at  all?" 

256 


WE'VE    GOT    OCR    OWN    PROBLEMS   TO    SOLVE,    HAVEN'T    WE?" 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

It  was  the  old  doctrine  of  tarrying  the  Lord's  leisure 
against  which  his  instincts  were  still  in  revolt.  His  in- 
dignation was  such  that  he  could  partially  turn  and  face 
her.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  we  should  let  him  abandon 
her — now?" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Oh,  Thor  dear,  it 
isn't  for  us  to  let — or  prevent — or  anything.  We  can't 
drive  other  people — and  it's  only  to  a  slight  degree  that 
we  can  lead  them.  Even  I  know  that.  What  we  can  do 
best  is  to  follow — and  pick  up  the  pieces." 

He  shook  his  head  blankly.  "I  don't  understand. 
What  good  would  that  do?" 

She  rose,  saying  quietly,  "I  shall  have  to  let  you  think 
it  out  for  yourself." 

As  he  remained  seated,  his  forehead  resting  on  his  hand, 
she  passed  behind  him.  With  her  arm  thrown  lightly 
across  his  shoulders  she  bent  over  him  till  her  cheek 
touched  his  hair.  "Thor  dear,"  she  whispered,  "we've 
got  our  own  problems  to  solve,  haven't  we?  We  can't 
solve  Claude's  and  Rosie's  too.  No  one  can  do  that  but 
themselves.  Whatever  happens — whether  he  comes  back 
and  marries  her,  or  whether  he  doesn't — no  help  would 
ever  come  of  your  interference  or  mine.  If  we'd  only 
understood  that  before — " 

"You  mean,  if  I  had." 

"Well,  Thor  darling,  you  haven't.  You  see,  human 
beings  are  so  terribly  free.  I  say  terribly,  on  purpose — 
because  you  can't  compel  them  to  be  wise  and  prudent 
and  safe,  even  when  they're  making  the  most  obvious 
mistakes.  We  must  let  them  make  them — and  suffer — 
and  learn."  She  bent  closer  to  his  ear.  "And  it's  what 
we  must  do,  Thor  dear,  you  and  I.  We've  made  our 
mistakes  already — though  perhaps  we  didn't  know  it. 
Now  we  must  have  the  suffering  —  and  —  and  the 
learning." 

She  brushed  her  lips  lightly  across  his  hair  and  left 
him. 

257 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

As  she  walked  through  the  Square,  and  past  the  terminus 
of  the  tram-line,  and  on  into  the  beginning  of  County 
Street,  she  was  obliged  to  keep  repeating  her  own  words — 
"Nothing  that  isn't  kind  and  well  thought  out  before- 
hand." Having  counseled  him  against  bitterness  and 
violence,  she  saw  that  her  immediate  task  was  not  to 
swallow  her  own  words.  Bitterness  was  beyond  suppres- 
sion, and  violence  would  have  been  so  easy!  "Well 
thought  out  beforehand,"  she  emphasized.  "Whatever  I 
do  I  must  keep  to  that.  If  /  don't,  God  knows  where  we 
shall  be." 

In  pursuance  of  this  principle  she  turned  in  at  her 
father-in-law's  gate.  He  and  Mrs.  Masterman  must  also 
be  warned.  Rosie's  rash  act  would  touch  them  so  closely 
that  unless  they  were  informed  of  it  gently  something  re- 
grettable might  be  said  or  done. 

As  to  that,  however,  her  fears  proved  groundless. 
Masterman  himself  opened  the  door  for  her  as  she  went 
up  the  steps.  "Saw  you  coming,"  he  explained.  "Just 
got  out  from  town.  Ena's  been  telling  me  the  most  dis- 
tressing thing — the  most  damnably  theatrical,  idiotic 
thing.     Perhaps  you've  heard  of  it." 

"I  know  what  you  mean.  I've  been  there.  I  was 
there  when  they  brought  her  ashore.  It  may  have  been 
idiotic,  as  you  say,  but  I  don't  think  it  was  theatrical." 

"You  will  when  you  know.  Ena,"  he  called  up  the 
stairs  after  they  had  entered  the  hall;  "Lois  is  here. 
Come  down." 

Mrs.  Masterman  entered  the  library  a  minute  later 
with  both  hands  outstretched.  "Oh,  my  dear,  what  a 
comedy  this  is!"  It  was  not  often  that  her  manner  for- 
sook its  ladylike  suavity.  "What  a  comedy!  But  of 
course  you  don't  know.  Nobody  knows,  thank  God! 
But  we  must  tell  you."  She  turned  to  her  husband. 
"Will  you  tell  her,  Archie,  or  shall  I?" 

"If  it's  about  Claude  and  Rosie  Fay,"  Lois  said,  when 
they  had  got  seated,  "I  know  all  that.     Thor  told  me. 

2j?8 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

He  told  me  yesterday,  because — well,  because  I'd  been 
taking  an  interest  in  Rosie  for  some  months  past,  and 
when  I  went  to  see  her  yesterday  afternoon  old  Mr.  Fay 
wouldn't  let  me.  He  said  there'd  been  trouble — or 
something — between  Claude  and  Rosie — " 

"Oh,  he's  been  so  romantic,  poor  boy,"  Ena  interrupted, 
"and  so  loyal.  You'd  hardly  believe.  He's  been  taken 
in  completely.  He  did  want  to  marry  her.  That's  true. 
There's  no  use  denying  it.  He  told  his  father  and  he  told 
me.  Oh,  you've  no  idea.  We've  been  so  worried.  But 
he  must  have  found  her  out — simply  found  her  out." 

Lois  weighed  the  wisdom  of  asking  questions  or  of 
learning  more  than  Thor  chose  to  tell  her,  but  in  the  end  it 
seemed  reasonable  to  ask,  "Found  her  out — how?" 

Ena  threw  up  her  pretty  hands.  "  Oh,  well,  with  a  girl 
of  that  sort  what  could  you  expect?  Claude's  been  com- 
pletely taken  in — or  he  was.  He's  so  innocent,  poor  boy. 
He  wouldn't  believe — not  even  when  I  told  him.  I  tried 
to  stand  by  him — I  really  did.  Didn't  I,  Archie?  When 
he  said  he  wanted  to  marry  her  I  said,  said  I,  'If  she's  a 
good  girl,  Claude,  and  loves  you,  I'll  accept  her.'  I 
really  did,  Lois — and  you  can  imagine  what  it  cost  me. 
But  I  could  see  at  once.  Any  one  who  wasn't  infatuated 
as  Claude  was  would  have  seen  at  a  glance.  The  girl 
must  be — well,  something  awful." 

Lois  spoke  warmly.     "Oh,  I  don't  think  that." 

"My  dear  Lois,  I  know.  What's  more,  Thor  knows, 
too.  And  I  must  say  I  can't  help  blaming  Thor.  He's 
backed  Claude  up — and  backed  him  up  when  all  the  while 
he's  known  what  she  was." 

Lois  felt  obliged  to  speak.  "I  don't  think  he's  known 
anything — anything  to  her  discredit." 

"Oh,  but  he  has.  I  assure  you  he  has.  And  what 
amazes  me  about  Thor — simply  amazes  me — is  that  he 
shouldn't  see  it  in  the  right  light.  Archie  did,  as  soon  as  I 
told  him.  Didn't  you,  Archie?  And  I  didn't  tell  him," 
Ena  ran  on,  excitedly,   "till  I  saw  what  trouble  dear 

259 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

Claudie  was  in.  When  Claudie  began  to  see  for  himself 
I  betrayed  his  confidence  to  the  extent  of  telling  his 
father,  but  not  before.  You  could  hardly  blame  me  for 
that,  could  you? — his  own  father.  And  when  I  did  tell 
Archie — why,  it  was  so  plain  that  a  child  could  have  under- 
stood." 

The  question,  "What  was  plain?"  could  not  but  come 
to  Lois's  lips,  but  she  succeeded  in  withholding  it.  She 
even  rose,  with  signs  of  going.  It  was  Archie  who  re- 
sponded to  his  wife,  taking  a  man's  view  of  that  which 
seemed  to  her  so  damning. 

"We  must  make  allowances,  of  course,  for  its  being  a 
cock-and-bull  story  to  begin  with.  Girls  like  that  never 
know  how  to  tell  the  truth." 

"We  couldn't  treat  it  as  a  cock-and-bull  story  so  long 
as  Claude  believed  it,"  the  mother  declared,  in  defense  of 
her  right  to  be  anxious.  "And  Thor  believed  it,  too. 
I  know  he  did.  And  I  do  blame  Thor  for  not  telling 
Claude — a  boy  so  inexperienced! — that  a  girl  couldn't  be 
getting  money  from  some  other  man — and  go  on  getting 
it  after  she  was  married — unless  there'd  been  something 
wrong." 

Lois  felt  as  if  her  blood  had  been  arrested  at  her  heart. 
"Money  from  some  other  man?" 

"Money  from  some  other  man,"  Mrs.  Masterman  re- 
peated, firmly.  "I  told  Claude  at  the  time  that  no  man 
in  his  senses  would  settle  money  on  a  girl  like  that  unless 
there'd  been  a  reason — and  a  very  good  reason,  too.  A 
very  good  reason,  too,  I  said.  But  Claude's  as  ignorant 
of  the  world  as  if  he  was  ten  years  old.  He  really  is.  She 
took  him  in  completely." 

Being  too  consciously  a  gentleman  to  say  more  in  dis- 
paragement of  a  woman's  character  than  he  had  permitted 
himself  already,  Masterman  remained  in  the  library  while 
his  wife  accompanied  Lois  to  the  door.  The  latter  had 
said  good-by  and  was  descending  the  steps  when  Ena 
cried  out  in  a  tone  that  was  like  a  confession : 

260 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

"Oh,  Lois,  you  don't  think  that  poor  girl  had  any  reason 
to  throw  herself  into  the  pond,  do  you?" 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  Lois  turned  and  looked  upward. 
Ena  was  wringing  her  hands,  but  the  daughter-in-law 
didn't  notice  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Lois  was  too  deeply 
sunk  into  thoughts  of  her  own  to  have  any  attention  to 
spare  for  other  people's  searchings  of  heart.  Having 
heard  the  question,  she  could  answer  it,  but  absently, 
and  as  though  it  were  a  point  of  no  pressing  concern. 

"She  hadn't  the  reason  you're  thinking  of.  I  feel  very 
sure  of  that.  I've  asked  her  mother — and  she  says  she 
knows  it." 

Mrs.  Masterman  was  uttering  some  expression  of  relief, 
but  Lois  could  listen  to  no  more.  In  her  heart  there  was 
room  for  only  one  consideration.  "Money!  Money!" 
she  was  saying  to  herself  as  she  went  down  the  avenue 
beneath  the  leafing  elms.  "He  was  going  to  give  her — 
that." 

But  Ena  returned  to  the  threshold  of  the  library,  where 
her  husband,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  empty  fire- 
place, was  meditating  moodily. 

"Archie,"  she  faltered,  "you  do  think  that  girl  was 
only  seeking  notoriety,  don't  you?" 

He  raised  his  head,  which  had  been  hanging  pensively. 
"Certainly.     Don't  you?" 

She  tried  to  speak  with  conviction.  "Oh  yes;  of — of 
course." 

"That  is,"  Archie  analyzed,  "she  was  going  in  for 
cheap  tragedy  in  the  hope  that  the  sensation  would 
reach  Claude.  That  was  her  game  —  quite  evidently. 
Dare  say  it  was  a  put-up  job  between  her  and  those 
two  young  men.  Took  very  good  care,  at  any  rate,  to 
have  'em  'longside." 

"But  if  Claude  should  hear  of  it — " 

"Must  see  that  he  doesn't.  Wiring  him  to-night  to 
go  on  to  Japan,  after  he's  seen  California.  Let  him  go  to 
India,  if  he  likes — round  the  world.     Anything  to  keep 

261 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

him  away — and  you  and  I,"  he  added,  "had  better  hook  it 
till  the  whole  thing  blows  over." 

She  looked  distressed.     "Hook  it,  Archie?" 

"Close  the  house  up  and  go  abroad.  Haven't  been 
abroad  for  three  years  now.  Little  motor  trip  through 
England — and  back  toward  the  end  of  the  summer. 
Fortunately  I've  sold  that  confounded  property.  Good 
price,  too.  Hobson,  of  Hobson  &  Davies.  Going  to 
build  for  residence.  Takes  it  from  the  expiration  of  the 
lease,  which  is  up  in  July.  He'll  clear  out  the  whole  gang 
then,  so  that  by  the  time  we  come  back  they'll  be  gone. 
What  do  you  think?  Might  do  Devonshire  and  Cornwall 
— always  wanted  to  take  that  trip — with  a  few  weeks  in 
Paris  before  we  come  home." 

The  suggestion  of  going  abroad  came  as  such  a  pleasing 
surprise  that  Mrs.  Masterman  slipped  into  a  chair  to  turn 
it  over  in  her  mind.  "Then  Claude  couldn't  come  back, 
could  he?"  expressed  the  first  of  the  advantages  she  fore- 
saw.    "He'd  have  nowhere  to  go." 

"Oh,  he'll  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  do  that,"  Archie  said, 
confidently. 

"And  I  do  want  some  things,"  she  mused  further.  "I 
had  nothing  to  wear  for  the  Darlings'  ball — nothing — and 
you  know  how  long  I've  worn  the  dinner-dresses  I  have. 
I  really  couldn't  put  on  the  green  again."  She  was  silent 
for  some  minutes,  when  another  of  those  queer  little  cries 
escaped  her  such  as  had  broken  from  her  lips  when  she 
stood  at  the  door  with  Lois:  "But,  oh,  Archie,  I  want  to 
do  what's  right! — what's  right,  Archie!" 

He  looked  at  her  from  under  his  brows  as  his  head  again 
drooped  moodily.     ' '  What's — what?" 

"What's  right,  Archie.  Latterly —  Oh,  I  don't  know! 
— but  latterly — "  She  passed  her  hand  across  her  brow. 
.  .  .  "Sometimes  I  feel — I  get  to  be  afraid,  Archie — as  if 
we  weren't — as  if  we  hadn't — as  if  something  were  going 
to  happen — to  overtake  us — " 

Crossing  the  room,  he  bent  back  her  pretty  head  and 

262 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

kissed  her.  "  Nonsense,"  he  smiled,  unsteadily.  "  Nerves, 
dear.  Don't  wonder  at  it — with  all  we've  been  through — 
one  way  and  another.  But  that's  what  we'll  do.  Close 
the  house  up  and  go  abroad  for  three  months.  Incon- 
venient just  now  with  the  upset  in  the  business — but 
we'll  do  it.  Get  out  of  the  way.  See  something  new. 
There,  now,  old  girl,"  he  coaxed,  patting  her  on  the 
shoulder,  "brace  up  and  shake  it  off.  Nothing  but 
nerves."  He  added,  as  he  moved  back  toward  his  stand 
by  the  fireplace,  "Get  'em  myself." 

"Do  you,  Archie?  Like  that?  Like — like  what  I 
said?" 

He  had  resumed  his  former  attitude,  his  feet  wide  apart, 
his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  head  hanging,  when  he 
muttered,  "Like  the  devil." 

She  was  not  sure  how  much  mental  discomfort  was  in- 
dicated by  the  phrase,  so  she  sat  looking  at  him  distress- 
fully. Being  unused  to  grappling  with  grave  questions  of 
right  and  wrong,  she  found  the  process  difficult.  It  was 
like  wandering  through  morasses  in  which  she  could  neither 
sink  nor  swim,  till  she  found  herself  emerging  on  solid, 
familiar  ground  again  with  the  reconciling  observation, 
"Well,  I  do  need  a  few  things." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IT  was  not  till  Rosie  was  well  enough  to  go  listlessly 
back  to  work,  and  the  Mastermans  had  sailed,  that 
Lois  found  her  own  emotions  ripe  for  speech.  During  the 
intervening  fortnight  she  and  Thor  had  lived  their  ordinary 
life  together,  but  on  a  basis  which  each  knew  to  be  tempo- 
rary. While  he  kept  his  office  hours  in  the  mornings  and 
visited  his  patients  in  the  afternoons,  and  she  busied  her- 
self with  household  tasks  or  superintended  the  gardener  in 
replanting  the  faded  tulip-beds  with  phlox  and  sweet-peas 
and  dahlias;  while  she  sewed  or  did  embroidery  in  the 
evenings  and  listened  to  him  reading  aloud,  or — since  the 
nights  were  growing  warm — they  sat  silent  on  an  upper 
balcony,  or  talked  about  the  stars,  each  knew  that  the 
inner  tension  would  never  be  relaxed  till  it  was  broken. 

If  there  was  any  doubt  of  that  it  was  on  Thor's  side. 
Because  she  said  nothing,  there  were  minutes  when  he 
hoped  she  had  nothing  to  say.  Unaware  of  a  woman's 
capacity  for  keeping  the  surface  unruffled  while  storm 
may  be  raging  beneath,  he  beguiled  himself  at  times  into 
thinking  that  his  fears  of  her  acuteness  had  been  false 
alarms.  If  so,  he  could  only  be  thankful.  He  wanted  to 
forget.  If  he  had  had  a  prayer  to  put  up  on  the  subject, 
it  would  have  been  that  she  would  allow  him  to  forget. 
So,  as  day  followed  day,  regularly,  peacefully,  with  an 
abstention  on  her  part  from  comment  that  could  give 
him  pain,  he  began  to  indulge  the  hope — a  hope  which 
he  knew  in  his  heart  to  be  baseless — that  she  had  nothing 
to  remember. 

When  he  was  called  on  at  last  to  face  the  realities  of  the 

264 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

case  the  moment  was  as  unexpected  to  him  as  it  was  to  her. 
She  had  not  meant  to  bring  the  subject  up  on  that  par- 
ticular evening.  She  had  made  no  program — not  be- 
cause she  was  uncertain  as  to  what  she  ought  to  say,  but 
because  the  impulse  to  say  it  lagged.  In  the  end  it  came 
to  her  without  warning,  surprising  herself  no  less  than  him. 

"Thor,  were  you  going  to  give  money  to  Rosie  Fay?" 

The  croaking  of  frogs  seemed  part  of  the  silence  in 
which  she  waited  for  his  answer.  The  warm  air  was 
heavy  with  the  scents  of  lilac,  honeysuckle,  and  syringa. 
As  they  stood  by  the  railing  of  the  balcony  that  connected 
the  exterior  of  their  two  rooms,  she  erect,  he  leaning  out- 
ward with  an  arm  stretched  toward  the  sky,  a  great 
white  lilac,  whose  roots  were  in  the  early  days  of  the 
Willoughby  farm,  threw  up  its  tribute  of  blossom  almost 
to  their  feet.  The  lights  of  the  village  being  banked 
under  verdure,  the  eye  sought  the  stars. 

Thor  loved  the  stars.  On  moonless  nights  he  spent 
hours  in  contemplation  of  their  beckoning  mystery. 
From  Auriga  and  Taurus  in  January,  he  followed  them 
round  to  Aries  and  Perseus  in  December,  getting  a  beam 
on  his  inward  way.  Just  now,  with  the  aid  of  a  pencil,  he 
was  tracing  for  his  wife's  benefit  the  lines  of  the  rising 
Virgin.  Lois  could  almost  discern  the  graceful,  recumbent 
figure,  winged,  noble,  lying  on  the  eastern  horizon,  Spica's 
sweet,  silvery  light  a-tremble  in  her  hand.  She  was 
actually  thinking  how  white  for  a  star  was  Spica's  radiance, 
when  the  words  slipped  out:  "Thor,  were  you  going  to 
give  money  to  Rosie  Fay?" 

He  suppressed  the  natural  question  concerning  her 
sources  of  information  in  order  to  say,  as  quietly  as  he 
could,  "If — if  Claude  had  married  her  I  was  going  to — 
to  help  them  out." 

She  resented  what  she  -considered  his  evasiveness. 
"That  isn't  just  what  I  asked." 

"Even  so,  it  tells,  you  what  you  want  to  know.  Doesn't 
it?" 

is  265 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Not  everything  I  want  to  know." 

"Why  should  you  want  to  know — everything?" 

"Because — "  It  struck  her  that  her  reason  could  be 
best  expressed  by  shifting  her  ground.  "  Thor  dear,  ex- 
actly why  did  you  want  to  marry  me?" 

The  change  in  tactics  troubled  him.  "I  think  I  told 
you  that  at  the  time." 

"You  told  me  you  came  to  me  as  to  a — to  a  shelter." 

"And  as  to  a  home.     I  said  that,  too,  Lois." 

"Yes,"  she  agreed,  slowly,  "you  said  that,  too."  A 
brief  interval  gave  emphasis  to  the  succeeding  words: 
"But  did  you  think  it  was  enough?" 

"I  couldn't  judge  of  that.  I  could  only  say — what  I 
had  to  say — truthfully." 

"Oh,  I  know  it  was — truthfully.  It's — it's  just  the 
trouble.  You  see,  Thor,"  she  went  on,  unsteadily,  "I 
thought  you  were  telling  me  only  some  of  what  was  in  your 
heart — and  it  was  all." 

"I'm  not  certain  that  I  know  what  you  mean  by  all. 
What  I  felt  was — so  much."  He  added,  reproachfully, 
"It's  surely  a  great  deal  when  a  man  finds  a  woman  his 
refuge  from  trouble." 

"That's  perfectly  true,  Thor;  and  there's  no  one  in  the 
world  who  wouldn't  be  touched  by  it.  But  in  the  case  of  a 
wife,  she  can  hardly  help  thinking  of  the  kind  of  trouble 
he's  escaping  from." 

"But  so  long  as  he  escapes  from  it — " 

She  interrupted  quickly:  "Yes;  so  long  as  he  does. 
But  when  he  doesn't?  When,  instead  of  leaving  his 
trouble  outside  the  refuge,  he  brings  it  in?" 

He  took  an  uneasy  turn  up  and  down  the  balcony. 
"Look  here,  Lois;  have  you  any  particular  motive  in 
bringing  this  up  now?" 

'Yes,  Thor.  It's  the  same  motive  I  had  a  few  weeks 
ago,  only  that  I  haven't  been  sure  of  it  till  to-night.  I 
want  you" — she  hesitated,  but  urged  herself  on — "I  want 
you — to  let  me  go  away." 

266 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Go  away?"  he  cried,  sharply.     "Go  away  where?" 

"I  don't  know  yet.  Anywhere.  There  are  one  or  two 
visits  I  might  make — or  I  could  find  a  place.  That  part  of 
it  doesn't  matter." 

"But  when  you  wanted  to  go  away  a  few  weeks  ago — " 

"It  was  to — to  take  her.  I  shouldn't  need  to  do  that 
now,  because  she's  better.  In  a  way  she's  all  right — all 
right,  only  changed." 

It  was  to  make  a  show  of  not  being  afraid  to  mention 
Rosie  that  he  said,  "Changed  in  what  way?" 

"Well,  you'll  see."  She  decided  that  for  his  own  sake 
it  was  kindness  to  be  cruel,  and  so  added:  "Changed  to  a 
healthier  frame  of  mind.  She's  very  much  ashamed  of 
what  she  tried  to  do,  and  wants  to  begin  again  on  a — on  a 
less  foolish  basis.  So,"  she  continued,  reverting  to  her 
former  point,  "my  going  away  wouldn't  now  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  her.  It  would  be  on  my  own  account. 
I  want  to — to  think." 

"Think  about  what?" 

"Well,  chiefly  about  you." 

He  knew  they  were  nearing  the  heart  of  the  question, 
and  so  went  up  to  it  boldly.     "To  wonder — whether  or 
not — I — love  you?    Is  that  it?" 

"N-no;  not  exactly."  She  allowed  a  second  to  pass 
before  letting  slip  the  words:  "Rather  the  other  way." 

"The  other  way— how?" 

She  spoke  very  softly.     "Whether  or  not — I  love  you." 

"Oh!"  His  tone  was  as  soft  as  hers,  but  with  the 
ejaculation  he  moved  his  big  hands  about  his  body  like  a 
man  feeling  for  his  wound.     "I  thought  you  did." 

"Yes,  I  thought  so,  too — till — till  lately.  Perhaps  I 
do,  even  now.  I  don't  know.  It's  what  I  want  to  get 
away  for — to  think — to  see.  I  can't  do  either  when  you're 
so  near  me.  You — you  overwhelm  me — you  crush  me. 
I  don't  get  the  free  use  of  my  mind." 

He  turned  again  to  pace  the  narrow  limits  of  the 
balcony.     "If  you  ever  did  love  me,  Lois,"  he  said,  in  a 

267 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

voice  she  hardly  recognized  because  of  the  new  thrill  in  it, 
"I've  done  nothing  to  deserve  the  withdrawal  of — of  your 
affection." 

She  answered  while  still  keeping  her  eyes  absently  on 
Spica's  white  effulgence.  "I  know  you  haven't,  Thor 
dear.  But  that's  not  the  point.  It's  rather  that  I  have 
to  go  back  and — and  revise  everything — form  new  con- 
ceptions." 

He  paused,  standing  behind  her.  "I  don't  think  I  get 
your  idea." 

"No,  probably  not.  You  couldn't  without  knowing 
what  it  all  used  to  mean  to  me." 

"Used  to  mean?" 

"Yes,  Thor;  used  to  mean  in  a  way  that  it  doesn't 
now,  and  never  can  any  more." 

There  was  pain  in  his  voice  as  he  said,  "That's  hard, 
Lois — damnably  hard." 

"I  know,  Thor  dear.  I  wouldn't  say  it  if  I  hadn't 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  must — that  I  ought  to.  I've 
had  a  great  shock — which  has  been  in  its  way  a  great 
humiliation — but  I  could  go  on  keeping  it  to  myself  if  I 
hadn't  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it's  best  for  you  to 
know.  Men  are  so  slow  to  fathom  what  their  wives  are 
thinking  of — " 

"Well,  then,  tell  me." 

She  turned  slowly  round  from  her  contemplation  of  the 
stars,  a  hand  on  each  side  grasping  the  low  rail  against 
which  she  leaned.  The  spangles  on  a  scarf  over  her  bare 
shoulders  glittered  iridescently  in  the  light  streaming 
from  her  room.  Of  Thor  she  could  discern  little  more 
than  the  whiteness  of  his  face  and  of  his  evening  shirt- 
front  from  the  obscurity  in  which  he  kept  himself.  A 
minute  or  more  elapsed  before  she  went  on. 

"You  see,  Thor,  I  didn't  fall  in  love  with  you  first  of  all 
for  your  own  sake;  it  was  because — because  I  thought 
you'd  fallen  in  love  with  me.  That's  a  sort  of  confession, 
isn't  it?    It  may  be  something  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of, 

268 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

and  perhaps  I  am — a  little.  But  you'd  understand  how 
it  could  happen  if  you  were  to  realize  what  it  was  to  me 
that  a  man  should  fall  in  love  with  me  at  all." 

He  tried  to  interrupt  her,  but  she  insisted  on  going  on 
in  her  own  way.  "  I  wasn't  attractive.  I  never  had  been. 
During  the  years  when  I  was  going  out  I  never  received 
what  people  call  attentions — not  from  any  one.  I  don't 
say  that  I  didn't  suffer  on  account  of  it.  I  did — but  I'd 
begun  to  take  the  suffering  philosophically.  I'd  made  up 
my  mind  that  no  one  would  ever  care  for  me,  and  I  was 
getting  used  to  the  idea — when — ^when  you  came." 

Because  her  voice  trembled  she  pressed  her  handker- 
chief against  her  lips,  while  Thor  stood  silent  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  far  end  of  the  balcony. 

"And  when  you  did  come,  Thor  dear,  it  couldn't  but 
seem  to  me  the  most  amazing  thing  that  ever  happened. 
I  didn't  allow  myself  to  think  that  you  were  in  love  with 
me — I  didn't  dare — at  first.  It  made  me  happy  that  you 
should  think  it  worth  while  just  to  come  and  see  me,  to 
talk  to  me,  to  tell  me  some  of  the  things  you  hoped  to  do. 
That  in  itself—" 

She  broke  off  again,  losing  something  of  her  self-com- 
mand. In  the  stress  of  physical  agitation  she  drew  the 
spangled  scarf  over  her  shoulders  and  stepped  forward 
into  the  shaft  of  light  that  fell  through  the  open  French 
window  of  her  room. 

"But,  finally,  Thor,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  you 
must  love  me.  I  couldn't  explain  your  kindness  in  any 
other  way.  Believe  me,  I  didn't  accept  that  way  till — 
till  it  seemed  the  only  one,  but  when  I  did,  well,  it  wasn't 
merely  pride  and  happiness  that  I  felt — it  was  something 
more."  A  sob  in  her  throat  obliged  her  to  interrupt  her- 
self again,  while  the  croaking  of  frogs  continued.  "And 
so,  Thor  dear,  love  came  to  me,  too.  It  came  because  I 
thought  you  brought  it;  but  now  that  I  see  you  didn't 
bring  it,  you  can  understand  why  I  should  be  in  doubt 
as  to — as  to  whether  or  not — it  really  did  come." 

269 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Since  he  recognized  the  futility  of  making  an  immediate 
response,  they  stood  confronting  each  other  in  silence. 

She  took  another  step  nearer  him.  "But  what  I'm  not 
in  any  doubt  about  at  all  is  the  scorn  I  feel  for  myself  for 
ever  having  cherished  the  delusion.  If  I'd  been  a  woman 
with — with  more  claim,  let  us  say,  to  being  loved — " 

"Lois,  for  God's  sake,  don't  say  that!" 

"But  I  must  say  it,  Thor.  It's  at  the  bottom  of  all  I 
mean.  I  was  weak  and  foolish  enough  to  think  that  in 
spite  of  the  things  I  lacked  a  man  had  given  me  his  heart 
— when  he  hadn't." 

"Lois,  I  can't  stand  this.     Please  don't  go  on." 

"But  I  have  to  stand  it,  Thor.  I  have  to  stand  it  day 
and  night,  without  ever  getting  away  from  the  thought  of 
it.  I  have  to  go  back  and  puzzle  and  wonder  and  speculate 
as  to  why  you  did  what  you've  done  to  me.  I  see  things 
this  way,  Thor:  There  was  a  time  when  you  thought  you 
might  come  to  care  for  me.  You  really  thought  it.  And 
then — something  happened — and  you  were  not  so  sure. 
Later,  you  felt  that  you  couldn't — that  you  never  would. 
But  the  something  that  happened  happened  the  wrong  way 
for  you — and  papa  broke  down  as  he  did — and  I  was  in 
danger  of  being  poor — and  you  were  kind  and  generous — 
and — you  weren't  very  happy  as  things  were — you  told 
me  so,  didn't  you?  And — and — in  short — you  thought 
you  might  as  well.  You  knew  I  expected  it — or  had 
expected  it  once — and  so — so  you  did  it.  Tell  me,  Thor 
dear;  am  I  so  very  far  wrong?    Wasn't  it  like  that?" 

He  raised  his  head  defiantly.  "And  if  I  admitted  that 
it  was  like  that,  what  then?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  I  should  merely  ask  you  the  same 
thing — to  let  me  go  away." 

"Away  for  how  long?" 

She  reflected.  "Till  I  could  establish  a  new  basis  on 
which  to  come  back." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  a  new  basis." 

"I  dare  say  I  don't  mean  anything  very  different  from 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

the  compromise  most  people  have  to  make — a  little  while 
after  marriage;  only  that  in  my  case  the  necessity  comes 
more  as — a  shock.  You  see,  Thor,  you're  not  the  man — 
not  the  man  I  thought  you  were.  I  must  have  a  little 
while  to  get  used  to  that." 

He  stirred  uneasily.  "You  find  I'm — I'm  not  so  good  a 
man." 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that.  I  don't  say  that  at  all.  You're 
just  as  good.  Only  you're  not — "  She  went  up  to  him, 
laying  her  hands  on  his  shoulders — "Oh,  you  don't  under- 
stand. I  loved  the  other  Thor.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  love 
this  one.  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  I  do.  I  can't  tell  till  I 
get  away  from  you.     Let  me  go.     It  may  not  be  for  long." 

She  stepped  back  from  him  toward  the  window  of  her 
room,  through  which  she  seemed  about  to  pass.  He  was 
obliged  to  speak  in  order  to  retain  her. 

"Look  here,  Lois,"  he  began,  not  knowing  exactly 
how  he  meant  to  continue.  She  turned  with  a  foot  on  the 
threshold,  her  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  open  window-door. 
The  pose,  set  off  by  the  simplicity  of  the  old  black  evening 
dress  she  was  in  the  habit  of  wearing  when  they  were 
alone,  displayed  the  commanding  beauty  of  her  figure  to  a 
degree  which  he  had  never  observed  before.  He  remem- 
bered afterward  that  something  shot  through  him,  some- 
thing he  had  associated  hitherto  only  with  memories  of 
little  Rosie  Fay,  but  for  the  minute  he  was  too  intensely 
preoccupied  for  more  than  a  subconscious  attention.  She 
was  waiting  and  he  must  say  something  to  justify  his 
appeal  to  her.  "It's  all  right,"  were  the  words  he  found. 
"I'm  willing.  That  is,  I'm  willing  in  principle.  Only  " — 
he  stammered  on — "only  I  don't  want  you  to  go  roaming 
the  country  by  yourself.  Why  not  let  me  go?  I  could 
go  away  for  a  while,  and  you  could  stay  here."  He 
warmed  to  the  idea  as  soon  as  he  began  to  express  it. 
"This  is  your  home,  rather  than  mine.  It's  your  father's 
house.  You've  lived  in  it  for  years.  I  couldn't  stay  here 
without  you — while  you're  used  to  it  without  me.     I'll 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

go.  I'll  go — and  I'll  not  come  back  till  you  tell  me. 
There.     Will  that  do?" 

The  advantages  of  the  arrangement  were  evident.  She 
answered  slowly.  "It — it  might.  But  what  about  your 
patients?" 

"Oh,  Hill  would  look  after  them.  He  said  he  would 
if  I  wanted  to  attend  the  medical  congress  at  Minneapolis. 
I  told  him  I  didn't,  but — but" — he  tapped  the  rail  to  em- 
phasize the  timeliness  of  the  idea — "but,  by  George! 
I'll  do  it.  You'd  have  three  weeks  at  least — and  as  many 
more  as  you  ask  for." 

She  gave  the  suggestion  a  minute's  thought.  "Very 
well,  Thor.  Since  the  congress  is  going  on — and  your 
time  wouldn't  be  altogether  thrown  away —  You  see, 
all  I  want  is  a  little  quiet — a  little  solitude,  perhaps — just 
to  realize  where  I  am — and  to  see  how — to  begin  again — 
if  we  ever  can." 

She  closed  one  side  of  the  window,  softly  and  slowly. 
Her  hands  were  on  the  other  battant  when  he  uttered  a 
little  throaty  cry.     "Aren't  you  going  to  say  good  night?" 

Standing  on  the  low  step  of  the  window,  she  was  suf- 
ficiently above  him  to  be  able  to  fold  his  head  in  her  arms, 
to  pillow  it  on  her  breast,  while  she  imprinted  a  long  kiss 
on  the  thick,  dark  mass  of  his  hair.  Having  released  him, 
she  withdrew,  closing  the  window  gently  and  pulling  down 
the  blinds. 

Outside  in  the  darkness  Thor  turned  once  more  to  where 
the  Virgin,  recumbent,  noble,  outlined  and  crowned  with 
stars,  Spica  the  wheat-ear  in  the  hand  hanging  by  her  side, 
rose  slowly  toward  mid-heaven.  Irrelevantly  there  came 
back  to  his  memory  something  said  months  before  by 
his  uncle  Sim,  but  which  he  had  not  recalled  since  the  night 
he  heard  it.  "You  may  make  an  awful  fool  of  yourself, 
Thor,  but  you'll  be  on  the  side  of  the  angels — and  the 
angels  will  be  on  yours." 

"Humph!"  he  snorted  to  himself.  "That's  all  very  fine. 
But — where  are  the  angels  ? ' '    And  again  he  sought  the  stars. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

IT  was  Jim  Breen  who  told  Lois  that  Jasper  Fay's 
tenancy  of  the  land  north  of  the  pond  was  definitely 
ended.  "Want  a  nice  fern-tree,  Mrs.  Masterman?"  he 
had  asked,  briskly.  "Two  or  three  beauties  for  sale  at 
Mr.  Fay's  place.  Look  dandy  in  the  corner  of  a  big  room. 
Beat  palms  and  rubber-plants  like  a  rose  '11  beat  a  bur. 
Get  a  nice  one  cheap  at  Mr.  Fay's." 

Lois  wondered.     "  Is  Mr.  Fay  selling  off?" 

"Well,  not  exactly.  Father's  selling  what  he  don't 
want  to  cart  over  to  our  place.  Didn't  you  know? 
Father's  bought  out  Mr.  Fay's  stock.  Mr.  Fay's  got  to 
beat  it  by  July  ninth." 

As  Lois  looked  into  the  honest  face  she  made  the  reflec- 
tion with  a  little  jealous  pang  that  Rosie  Fay  was  just  the 
type  that  men  like  Jim  Breen  fell  in  love  with.  There 
was  something  in  men  like  Jim  Breen,  in  men  like  Thor 
Masterman — the  big,  generous,  tender  men — that  impelled 
them  toward  piteous  little  creatures  like  Rosie  Fay, 
driven  probably  by  the  protective  yearning  in  themselves. 
It  placed  the  tall  women,  the  strong  women,  the  women 
whose  first  impulse  was  to  give  to  others  rather  than  to  get 
anything  for  themselves,  at  a  disadvantage.  In  response 
to  the  information  just  received,  she  said,  anxiously, 
"Why,  Jim,  tell  me  about  it." 

He  drew  from  the  wagon  a  wooden  "flat"  filled  with 
zinnia  plantlings,  like  so  many  little  green  rosettes. 
"Hadley  B.  Hobson  owns  that  property  now,  Mrs. 
Masterman,"  he  said,  cheerily,  depositing  the  "fiat"  on 
the  ground.     "  Going  to  build.     Didn't  you  know?    Have 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

a  dandy  place  there.  Had  architects  and  landscape- 
gardeners  prowling  'round  for  the  last  two  weeks,  and  old 
man  Fay  won't  allow  one  of  them  on  the  grounds.  You'd 
die  laughing  to  see  him  chasing  them  off  with  a  spade  or 
a  rake  or  whatever  he  has  in  his  hand.  His  property  till 
July  ninth,  he  says,  and  he  wouldn't  let  so  much  as  a  crow 
fly  over  it  if  it  belonged  to  Hadley  B.  Hobson.  You'd  die 
laughing." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  laugh  when  he's  in  such 
trouble,  poor  man." 

"Oh,  well,"  Jim  drawled,  optimistically,  "he  won't  do 
so  bad.  He  can  always  have  a  job  with  father.  Father's 
mingled  with  him  ever  since  the  two  of  them  were  young. 
If  Mr.  Fay  hadn't  been  so  moonstruck  he'd  have  had  just 
the  same  chance  as  father  had." 

Lois  chose  a  moment  which  seemed  to  be  discreet  in 
order  to  say:  " I  know  Rosie  quite  well.  I've  seen  a  good 
deal  of  her  during  the  past  few  months." 

"Rosie's  all  right,  Mrs.  Masterman,"  Jim  answered, 
suddenly  and  a  trifle  aggressively.  "I  don't  care  what 
any  one  says — she's  all  right." 

"I  know  she's  all  right,  Jim.  She's  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable characters  I've  ever  met.  I  often  wish  she'd  let 
me  help  her  more." 

"Well,  you  hold  on  to  her,  Mrs.  Masterman,"  he  ad- 
vised, with  a  curious,  pleading  quality  in  his  voice. 
"You'll  find  she'll  be  worth  it.  And  if  ever  a  girl  was  up 
against  it — she  is." 

"  I  will  hold  on  to  her,  Jim." 

"It's  all  rot  what  people  are  saying  that  she'd  gone 
melancholy  because  she  took  that  fool  jump  into  the 
pond.  I  know  how  she  did  it.  She'd  got  to  the  point 
where  she  couldn't  help  it,  where  she  just  couldn't  stand 
any  more — with  the  business  all  gone  to  pieces  and  Matt 
coming  out  of  jail,  and  everything  else.  Who  wouldn't 
have  done  it?  I'd  have  done  it  myself,  if  I'd  been  a  girl. 
She'd  got  worked  up,  Mrs.  Masterman,  and  when  girls 

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THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

get  worked  up,  why,  they'll  do  anything.     I  believe  the 
shock's  done  her  good.     Sort  of  cleared  her  mind  like." 

Lois  tried  to  be  tactful.     "Then  you  see  her?" 

"We-11 — on  and  off."  He  grew  appealing  and  confi- 
dential. "I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Mrs.  Masterman," 
he  began,  as  if  acknowledging  an  indiscretion,  "I  went 
with  Rosie  once.     Went  with  her  for  over  a  year." 

"Did  you,  Jim?" 

He  leaned  nonchalantly  against  Maud's  barrel-shaped 
body,  his  face  taking  on  an  expressoin  of  boyish  regret. 
"And  I'd  have  gone  on  going  with  her  if — if  Rosie  hadn't 
— hadn't  kind  of  dropped  me." 

"Oh,  but,  Jim,  why  should  she?" 

"We-11,  I  can  understand  it.  Rosie's  high-toned,  you 
know,  Mrs.  Masterman,  and  she's  got  a  magnificent  educa- 
tion. I  guess  you  wouldn't  come  across  them  more  re- 
fined, not  in  the  most  tip-top  families.  Pretty!  My 
Lord !  pretty  isn't  the  word  for  it.  And  I  think  she  grows 
prettier.  And  work !  Why,  Mrs.  Masterman,  if  that  girl 
was  at  the  head  of  a  plant  like  ours  there  wouldn't  be  any- 
thing for  father  and  me  to  do  but  sit  in  a  chair  and  rock." 

"I'm  glad  she's  willing  to  see  you,"  Lois  ventured. 

He  sprang  to  his  seat  behind  Maud.  "Well,  I  guess  she 
needs  all  the  friends  she's  got." 

Lois  ventured  still  further.  "I'm  sure  she  needs  friends 
like  you,  Jim." 

There  was  a  flare  in  his  eye  as  he  fumbled  for  the  reins. 
"Well,  she's  only  got  to  stoop  and  pick  me  up.  Git 
along,  Maud.  Gee!"  In  obedience  to  his  pull  Maud 
arched  her  heavy  neck  and  executed  a  sidewise  movement 
uncertainly.  "She  knows  I'm  there,"  he  continued,  as 
the  wagon  creaked  round.  "Been  there  ever  since  she 
dropped  me.  Gee!  Maud,  gee!  What  you  thinking  of? 
I've  never  gone  with  any  one  else,  Mrs.  Masterman — not 
really  gone  with  them.  Rosie's  been  the  only  one  so  far. 
Well,  good-by.  And  you  will  hold  on  to  her,  Mrs.  Mas- 
terman, now,  won't  you?" 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"  Indeed  I  will,  Jim — and — and  you  must  do  the  same." 

He  threw  her  a  rueful  look  over  his  shoulder,  as  Maud 
paced  toward  the  gate.     "Oh,  I'm  on  the  job  every  time." 

The  visit  gave  her  a  number  of  themes  for  thought, 
of  which  the  most  insistent  was  the  power  some  women  had 
of  drawing  out  the  love  of  men.  For  the  rest  of  the  day 
her  gardening  became  no  more  than  a  mechanical  direct- 
ing of  the  setting  out  of  seedlings,  while  she  meditated  on 
the  problem  of  attractiveness. 

How  was  it  that  women  of  small  endowments  could 
captivate  men  at  sight,  and  that  others  of  inexhaustible 
potentialities — she  was  not  afraid  to  rank  herself  among 
them — went  unrecognized  and  undesired?  If  Rosie  Fay 
had  been  content  with  the  honors  of  a  local  belle,  she 
could  have  had  her  choice  among  half  the  young  men  in 
the  village.  What  was  her  gift?  What  was  the  gift  of 
that  great  sisterhood,  comprising  perhaps  a  third  of  the 
women  in  the  world,  to  whom  the  majority  of  men  turned 
instinctively,  ignoring,  or  partially  ignoring,  the  rest? 
Was  it  mere  sheep-stupidity  in  men  themselves  that  sent 
one  where  the  others  went,  without  capacity  for  individual 
discernment? — or  was  there  a  secret  call  that  women  like 
Rosie  Fay  could  give  which  brought  them  too  much  of 
that  for  which  other  women  were  left  famishing? 

She  put  the  question  that  evening  to  Dr.  Sim  Master- 
man,  who  had  dropped  in  to  see  her,  as  he  not  infrequently 
did  after  his  supper,  now  that  Thor  was  away.  Indeed, 
his  visits  were  so  regular  as  to  make  her  afraid  that  with 
his  curious  social  or  spiritual  second  sight  he  suspected 
more  in  Thor's  absence  than  zeal  for  the  science  of 
medicine. 

"Why  do  men  fall  in  love  with  inferior  women? — 
become  infatuated  with  them?" 

He  answered  while  sprawling  before  the  library  fire, 
his  long  legs  apart,  his  fingers  interlocked  over  his  old 
tan  waistcoat.  "No  use  to  discuss  love  with  a  woman. 
She  can't  get  hold  of  it  by  the  right  end." 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Oh,  but  I  thought  that  was  just  what  she  could  do — 
one  of  the  few  capabilities  universally  conceded  her." 

"All  wrong,  my  dear.  A  man  occasionally  understands 
love,  but  a  woman  never — or  so  rarely  that  it  hardly 
counts.  Gets  it  backward — wrong  end  first — nine  women 
but  of  ten." 

She  looked  up  from  her  sewing.  "I  do  wish  you'd  tell 
me  what  you  mean  by  that." 

"Clear  enough.  Love  is  in  the  first  place  the  instinct 
to  love  some  one  else,  and  only  in  the  second  place  the 
desire  to  be  loved  in  return.  Ten  to  one,  the  woman  puts 
the  cart  before  the  horse.  She's  thinking  of  the  return 
before  she's  done  anything  to  get  it.  She  don't  want  to 
love  half  as  much  as  to  be  loved — and  so  she  finds  herself 
left." 

Lois  went  on  with  her  sewing  again,  but  she  was  uneasy. 
She  thought  of  her  confession  to  Thor.  Could  it  be  that 
there  was  something  wrong  with  her  love  as  well  as  with 
his?  It  was  to  see  what  he  had  to  say  further  that  she 
asked,  "Finds  herself  left  in  what  way?" 

"Make  'emselves  too  sentimental,"  he  grumbled  on. 
"  In  love  with  love.  They  like  that  expression,  and  it  does 
'em  harm.  Sets  'em  to  wool-gathering — with  the  heart. 
Makes  'em  think  love  more  important  than  it  is." 

"It's  generally  supposed  to  be  rather  important." 

"Rather's  the  word.  But  it's  not  the  only  thing  of 
which  that  can  be  said — and  more.  Women  reason  as  if  it 
was.  Make  their  lives  depend  on  it.  Mistake.  If  you 
can  get  it,  well  and  good;  if  not — there's  compensation." 

She  lifted  her  head  not  less  in  amazement  than  in 
indignation.  "Compensation  for  having  to  do  without 
love?" 

"Heaps." 

"And  may  I  ask  what?" 

"No  use  telling  you.  Wouldn't  believe  me.  Be  like 
telling  a  man  who's  fond  of  his  wine  that  he'd  be  just  as 
well  off  with  water." 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  said,  musingly,  "Yes;  love  is  the  wine  of  life,  isn't 
it?" 

"Wine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man — and  can 
also  play  the  deuce  with  it." 

She  sat  for  some  time  smiling  to  herself  with  faint 
amusement.  "Do  you  really  disapprove  of  love,  Uncle 
Sim?"  she  asked,  at  last. 

He  yawned  loudly  and  stretched  himself.  "What  'd 
be  the  good  of  that?  Don't  disapprove  of  it  any  more 
than  I  disapprove  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  Force 
in  life — of  course!  Treasure  to  be  valued  and  peril  to  be 
controlled.  To  play  with  it  requires  skill;  to  utilize  it 
calls  for  wisdom." 

She  had  again  been  smiling  gently  to  herself  when  she 
said,  "I  doubt  if  you  can  ever  have  been  in  love." 

"  Got  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Not  obliged  to  have  been 
insane  to  understand  insanity.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
best  brain  specialists  have  always  kept  their  senses." 

"Oh,  then,  you  rate  love  with  insanity." 

"Depends  on  the  kind.  Some  sorts  not  far  from 
it.  Obsession.  Brain-storm.  Supernormal  excitement. 
Passing  commotion  of  the  senses.  Comes  as  suddenly 
as  a  summer  tempest — thunder  and  lightning  and  rain — 
and  goes  the  same  way." 

"Oh,  but  would  you  call  that  love?" 

"You  bet  I'd  call  it  love.  Love  the  poets  write  about. 
Grand  passion.  Whirls  along  like  a  tornado — makes  a 
noise  and  kicks  up  dust — and  all  over  in  an  afternoon. 
That's  the  real  thing.  If  you  can't  love  like  that,  you 
can't  love  at  all — not  in  the  grand  manner.  The  going 
just  as  vital  as  the  coming.  Very  essence  of  it  that  it 
shouldn't  last.  That's  why  Shakespeare  kills  his  Romeo 
and  his  Juliet  at  the  end  of  the  play — and  Wagner  his 
Tristan  and  his  Isolde.  Nothing  else  to  do  with  'em. 
People  of  that  kind  go  through  just  the  same  set  of  high 
jinks  six  or  eight  months  later  with  some  one  else;  and 
in  poetry  that  wouldn't  do.     Romantic  lovers  love  by 

278 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

crises,  and  never  pass  twice  the  same  way.  People  who 
don't  do  that — and  lots  of  'em  don't — needn't  think  they 
can  be  romantic.     They  ain't." 

"But  surely  there  is  a  love — " 

"Of  the  nice,  tame,  house-keeping  variety.  Of  course! 
And  it  bears  the  same  relation  to  the  other  kind  as  a  glass 
of  milk  to  a  bottle  of  champagne.  Mind  you,  I  like  milk. 
I  approve  of  it.  In  the  long  run  it  '11  beat  champagne  any 
day — especially  where  you  expect  babies.  I'm  only  say- 
ing that  it  doesn't  come  of  the  same  vintage  as  Veuve 
Cliquot.  Women  often  wish  it  did;  and  when  it  doesn't 
they  make  things  uncomfortable.  No  use.  Can't  make 
a  Tristan  out  of  good,  honest,  faithful  William  Dobbin, 
nohow.  The  thing  with  the  fizz  is  bound  to  go  flat;  and 
the  thing  that  stands  by  you,  to  be  relied  on  all  through 
life,  won't  have  any  fizz." 

Feeling  at  liberty  to  reject  these  vaporings  as  those  of  an 
eccentric  old  man  who  could  know  little  or  nothing  on  the 
subject,  Lois  reverted  to  the  aspect  of  the  question  which 
had  been  in  her  mind  when  she  started  the  theme.  "You 
still  haven't  answered  what  I  asked — as  to  why  men  fall 
in  love  with  inferior  women,  and  often  with  a  kind  of 
infatuation  they  hardly  ever  feel  for  the  good  ones." 

He  took  longer  than  usual  to  reflect.  "Part  of  man's 
dual  nature.  Paul  knew  a  good  deal  about  that.  Puts 
the  new  man  in  contrast  to  the  old  man — the  inner  man 
in  contrast  to  the  outer  man — the  spiritual  man  in  con- 
trast to  the  carnal.  The  old,  outer,  carnal  man  falls  in 
love  with  one  kind  of  person,  and  the  new,  inner,  spiritual 
man  with  another.  Depends  on  which  element  is  the 
stronger.  The  higher  falls  in  love  with  the  higher  type; 
the  lower  with  the  lower." 

"But  suppose  neither  is  stronger  than  the  other? — that 
they're  equally  balanced — and — ?" 

"And  in  conflict.  One  of  the  commonest  sights  in  life. 
Known  fellows  in  love  with  two  women  at  the  same  time — 
with  a  good  wife  at  home,  mother  of  the  children,  and  all 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

that — and  another  kind  of  woman  somewhere  else.  True, 
in  a  way,  to  'em  both.     Struggle  of  the  two  natures." 

Lois  was  distressed.  "Oh,  but  that  kind  of  thing  can't 
be  love." 

"Can't  be?  Tis.  Ask  any  one  who's  ever  felt  it — 
who's  been  dragged  by  it  both  ways  at  once.  He'll  tell 
you  whether  it's  love  or  not — and  each  kind  the  real 
thing — while  it  lasts." 

It  was  the  expression  "while  it  lasts"  that  Lois  most 
resented.  It  reduced  love  to  a  phase — to  a  passing  experi- 
ence that  might  be  repeated  on  an  indefinite  number  of 
occasions.  It  was  more  than  a  depreciation;  it  had  the 
nature  of  a  sacrilege.  And  yet  no  later  than  the  following 
day  she  received  a  shock  that  showed  her  there  was  some- 
thing to  be  said  in  its  favor. 

She  had  gone  nominally  to  see  Rosie,  but  really  to 
verify  for  herself  Jim  Breen's  report  of  the  collapse  of 
Jasper  Fay's  little  industry.  She  found  it  hard  to  believe 
that  after  Claude's  conduct  toward  Rosie  her  father-in- 
law  could  have  the  heart  to  bring  further  woe  upon  a 
family  that  had  already  had  enough.  Nothing  but  seeing 
for  herself  could  coerce  her  incredulity. 

She  had  seen  for  herself.  Over  the  little  place  which 
had  always  been  neat  even  when  it  was  forlorn  there  was 
now  the  stamp  of  desolation.  The  beds  which  had  been 
seeded  or  planted  a  month  before,  and  which  should  now 
have  been  weeded,  trimmed,  and  hoed,  were  growing  with 
an  untended  recklessness  that  had  all  the  proverbial 
resemblance  to  moral  breakdown.  In  the  cucumber- 
house  the  vines  had  become  rusty  and  limp,  sagging 
from  the  twines  on  which  they  climbed  in  debauched  in- 
difference to  sightliness.  The  roof  of  the  hothouse  that 
had  contained  the  flowers  had  a  deep  gash  in  the  glass 
which  it  was  no  longer  worth  while  to  mend.  There  was 
no  yellow-brown  plume  from  the  furnace  chimney,  and 
the  very  windows  of  the  old  house  with  the  mansard  roof 

280 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  in  their  stare  the  glazed,  unseeing  expression  of  eyes 
in  which  there  is  death.  Inside,  Mrs.  Fay  was  packing 
up.  Battered  old  trunks  that  had  long  been  stored  in 
some  moldy  hiding-place  stood  agape;  a  packing-case 
held  the  place  of  honor  in  a  forbidding  "best  room"  into 
which  Lois  had  never  looked  before.  Mrs.  Fay  had  little 
to  say.  Tears  welled  into  her  cold  eyes  with  the  attempt 
to  say  anything.  Outside,  Fay  himself  had  nothing  to 
say  at  all.  Lois  had  accosted  him,  and  though  he  had 
ceased  to  regard  her  as  an  enemy,  he  stood  grimly  silent 
as  his  only  response  to  her  words  of  consolation. 

"I  know  things  will  come  all  right  again,  Mr.  Fay. 
They  must.  They  look  dark  now;  but  haven't  you  often 
noticed  that  after  the  worst  times  in  our  lives  we're  able 
to  look  back  and  see  that  the  very  thing  that  seemed  most 
cruel  was  the  turning-point  at  which  a  change  for  the 
better  began?  You  must  surely  have  noticed  that — a 
man  with  so  much  experience  as  you." 

He  looked  vaguely  about  him,  standing  in  patience  till 
she  had  said  her  say,  but  giving  no  indication  that  her 
words  had  anything  to  do  with  him.  The  change  in  his 
appearance  shocked  her.  Everything  in  his  face  had 
taken  on  what  was  to  her  a  terrible  significance.  The 
starry  mysticism  had  vanished  from  the  eyes  to  be  re- 
placed by  a  look  that  was  at  once  hunted  and  searching, 
vindictive  and  yet  woebegone.  The  mouth  was  sunken 
as  the  mouths  of  old  men  become  from  the  loss  of  teeth, 
and  the  thin  lips  which  used  to  be  kindly  and  vacillating 
were  drawn  with  a  hard,  unflinching  tightness.  The  skin 
that  had  long  been  gray  was  now  ghostly,  with  the  shad- 
owy, not  quite  earthly,  hue  of  things  about  to  disappear. 

She  had  talked  to  him  for  some  minutes  before  he  woke 
to  animation.  At  sight  of  two  young  men — surveyor's 
clerks,  perhaps — who  had  set  up  in  the  roadway  what 
might  have  been  a  camera  on  a  tripod,  or  more  probably 
a  theodolite,  through  which  they  were  squinting  over 
the  buildings  and  the  slope  of  the  land,  he  left  her  abruptly. 
19  281 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

With  a  hoe  in  his  hand  he  crept  forward,  taking  his  place 
behind  a  clump  of  syringa  that  grew  near  the  gate,  ready- 
to  strike  if  either  of  the  lads  ventured  to  put  foot  on  his 
property.  It  was  the  situation  at  which,  according  to 
light-hearted  Jim  Breen,  you  would  have  died  laughing; 
but  Lois  had  difficulty  in  keeping  back  her  tears. 

She  found  Rosie  in  the  hothouse,  of  which  the  interior 
corresponded  to  the  gash  in  the  roof.  All  the  smaller 
plants  had  been  removed,  disclosing  the  empty,  ugly, 
•earth  -  stained,  water  -  stained  wooden  stagings.  Only 
some  half-dozen  fern-trees  remained  of  all  the  former 
beauty. 

But  even  here  Rosie  was  at  work,  sitting  at  the  old 
desk,  which,  deprived  of  its  sheltering  greenery,  was 
shabbier  than  ever,  making  out  bills.  There  was  still 
money  owing  to  her  father,  and  it  was  important  that  it 
•should  be  collected.  Over  and  over  again  she  wrote  her 
neat  "Acct.  rendered,"  while  she  added  as  a  postscript 
in  every  case:   "Please  remit.     Going  out  of  business." 

And  yet,  if  there  was  anything  on  the  dilapidated 
premises  that  could  cheer  or  encourage  it  was  Rosie. 
With  the  enforced  rest  and  seclusion  following  on  her 
fruitless  dash  to  escape,  her  prettiness  had  become  more 
delicate,  less  worn.  Shame  at  her  folly  had  put  into  her 
greenish  eyes  a  pleading  timidity  which  became  a  quiver- 
ing, babyish  tremble  when  it  reached  the  lips.  The 
contrast  which  the  girl  thus  presented  to  her  parents, 
as  well  as  something  that  was  visibly  developing  within 
her,  enabled  Lois  to  affirm  that  which  hitherto  she  had 
only  hoped  or  suspected,  that  the  wild  leap  into  the 
pond  had  worked  some  mysterious  good. 

Like  her  father  and  mother,  Rosie  had  little  to  say. 
The  meeting  was  embarrassing.  There  were  too  many 
unuttered  and  unutterable  thoughts  on  both  sides  to 
make  intercourse  easy  or  agreeable.  All  they  could 
achieve  was  to  be  sorry  for  each  other,  in  a  measure  to 
respect   each   other,   and  to  make  up  by  an  enforced, 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

slightly  perfunctory,  good  will  for  what  they  lacked  in  the 
way  of  spontaneity. 

Lois  took  the  chair  on  which  Rosie  had  been  seated  at 
the  desk,  while  Rosie  leaned  against  a  corner  of  the  empty 
staging.  It  furnished  the  latter  with  something  to  say 
to  be  able  to  tell  the  new  plans  of  the  family  Her  father 
had  taken  a  job  with  Mr.  Breen.  It  wouldn't  be  like  man- 
aging his  own  place,  but  it  would  be  better  than  nothing. 
He  had  also  rented  a  tenement  in  a  "three-family"  house 
on  the  Thorley  estate,  to  which  they  would  move  as  soon 
as  possible.  It  was  important  to  make  the  change,  so  as 
to  be  settled  when  Matt  came  out  of  jail.  Both  Rosie 
and  her  mother  were  glad  that  he  wouldn't  be  free  till  the 
ioth  of  July,  because  the  lease  terminated  on  the  9th. 
He  would  return,  therefore,  to  absolutely  new  conditions, 
and  there  would  be  no  necessity  of  going  over  any  of  the 
old  ground  again.  As  far  as  they  were  concerned — Rosie 
and  her  mother — the  sooner  they  went  the  better  they 
would  like  it,  since  they  had  to  go;  but  "poor  father," 
Rosie  said,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice,  "won't  leave  till 
the  last  minute  has  struck.  Even  then,"  she  added,  "I 
think  they'll  have  to  drive  him  off.  This  place  has  been 
his  life.  I  don't  think  he'll  last  long  after  he's  had  to 
leave  it." 

Having  given  sympathetic  views  on  these  points  as 
they  came  up,  Lois  rose  to  depart.  She  had  actually 
shaken  hands  and  turned  away  when  Rosie  seemed  to 
utter  a  little  cry.  That  is,  her  words  came  out  with  the 
emotion  of  a  cry.  "Mrs.  Masterman!  I  want  to  ask 
you  something!" 

Lois  turned  in  surprise.     "Yes,  Rosie?    What?" 

With  one  hand  Rosie  clung  to  the  staging  for  support. 
The  back  of  the  other  hand  was  pressed  against  her  lips. 
She  could  hardly  speak.  "Is — is  Claude  staying  away 
on  my  account?"  Before  Lois  could  answer,  Rosie  added, 
"Because  he — he  needn't." 

Lois  wondered.     "What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Rosie?" 

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THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Only  that — that  he  needn't.  I — I  don't  care  whether 
he  stays  away  or  not." 

Lois  took  a  step  back  toward  the  girl.  "You  mean 
that  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  you  what  he 
does?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No;  not  now;  not — not  any 
more." 

"That  is,  you've  given  him  up?" 

Rosie  sought  for  an  explanation.  "I  haven't  given 
him  up.     I  only — see.'7 

"You  see  what,  Rosie?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  It's — it's  like  having  had  a  dream 
— a  strange,  awful  dream — and  waking  from  it." 

"Waking  from  it?" 

Rosie  nodded.  She  made  a  further  effort  to  explain. 
"After  I — I  did— what  I  did— that  day  at  Duck  Rock— 
everything  was  different.  I  can't  describe  it.  It  was 
like  dying — and  coming  back.     It  was  like — like  waking." 

"Do  you  mean  that  what  happened  before  seemed — 
unreal?" 

She  nodded  again.  "Yes,  that's  it.  It  was  like  a 
play."  But  she  corrected  herself  quickly.  "No;  it 
wasn't  like  a  play.  It  was  more  than  that.  It  was  like 
a  dream — an  awful  dream — but  a  dream  you  like — a  dream 
you'd  go  through  again.  No;  you  wouldn't  go  through 
it  again — it  would  kill  you."  She  grew  incoherent.  "Oh, 
I  don't  know — I  don't  know.  It's  gone — just  gone.  I 
don't  say  it  wasn't  real.  It  was  real.  It  was  a  kind  of 
frenzy.  It  got  hold  of  me.  It  got  hold  of  me  body  and 
soul.     I  couldn't  think  of  anything  else — while  it  lasted." 

Lois  was  pained.  "Oh,  but,  Rosie,  love  can't  come 
and  go  like  that." 

"Can't  it?  Then  it  wasn't  love."  But  she  contradicted 
herself  again.  "Yes,  it  was  love.  It  was  love — while  it 
lasted." 

While  it  lasted!  While  it  lasted!  The  phrase  seemed 
to  be  on  every  one's  lips.     There  was  distress  in  Lois's 

284 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

voice  as  she  said,  "But  if  it  was  love,  Rosie,  it  ought  to 
have  lasted." 

And  Rosie  seemed  to  agree  with  her.  "Yes,  it  ought  to 
have.  But  it  didn't.  It  went  away.  No,  it  didn't  go 
away;  it  just — it  just — wasn't."  She  wrung  her  hands, 
struggling  with  the  difficulty  she  found  in  explaining  her- 
self. "After  that  day  at  Duck  Rock  it  was  like — it  was 
like  the  breaking  of  a  spell  that  was  on  me.  Everything 
was  different.  It  was  like  seeing  through  plain  daylight 
again  after  looking  through  colored  glass.  I  didn't  want 
the  things  I'd  been  wanting.  They  were  foolish  to  me — 
I  saw  they  were  foolish — and — and  impossible.  But  it 
wasn't  as  if  they  had  died;  it  was  as  if  I  had — and  come 
back." 

It  was  on  behalf  of  love  that  Lois  felt  driven  to  make  a 
protest.  "And  yet,  Rosie,  if  you  were  to  see  Claude 
again — " 

"No,  no,  no,"  the  girl  cried,  excitedly;  "I  don't  want 
to  see  him.  He  needn't  stay  away — not  on  my  account — 
but  I  sha'n't  see  him  if  I  can  help  it.  It  would  be  like 
dying  the  second  time.  All  the  same,  he  needn't  be 
afraid  of  me;  and  his  family  needn't  be  afraid  of  me.  I 
want  to — to  forget  them  all." 

Enlightenment  came  slowly  to  Lois  because  of  her  un- 
willingness to  be  convinced  of  the  heart's  capriciousness. 
That  love  could  be  likened  to  brain-storm — obsession — 
the  tornado  whose  rage  dies  out  in  an  afternoon — was  a 
wound  to  her  tenderest  beliefs.  That  the  natural  man 
must  be  taken  into  consideration  as  well  as  the  spiritual 
also  did  violence  to  what  she  would  have  liked  to  make  a 
serene,  smooth  theory  of  life.  She  stood  looking  long  at 
the  girl,  studying  her  subconsciously,  before  she  was  able 
to  say,  calmly:  "Very  well,  Rosie,  dear.  I'll  let  Claude 
know.     I  can  get  his  address,  and  I'll  write  to  him." 

But  another  surprise  was  in  store  for  her.  She  was 
near  the  door  leading  from  the  hothouse  when  she  became 
aware  that  Rosie  was  behind  her,  and  heard  the  same  little 

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THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

gasping  cry  as  before.  "Mrs.  Masterman!  I  want  to 
ask  you  something!"  Lois  had  hardly  looked  round 
when  the  girl  went  on  again.  "You  know  father  and 
mother.  They  think  the  world  of  you — mother  especially. 
Do  you  suppose  they'd  mind  very  much  if  I — if  I  turned?" 

Lois  was  puzzled.     "If  you  did  what,  Rosie?" 

"If  I  turned;  if  I  turned  Catholic." 

"Oh!" 

The  reformed  tradition  was  strong  in  Lois.  She  was 
prepared  to  defend  it  by  argument  and  with  affection. 
For  a  minute  she  was  almost  on  the  point  of  stating  the 
historical  Protestant  position  when  she  was  deterred  by 
the  thought  of  Dr.  Sim.  What  would  he  have  said  to 
Rosie  ?  She  remembered  suddenly  something  that  he  once 
did  say:  "  If  you  can  seize  any  one  aspect  of  the  Christian 
religion,  do  it — for  the  least  of  them  all  will  save  you." 

Remembering  this,  Lois  withheld  her  arguments,  asking 
the  non-committal  question,  "Why  should  you  think  of 
doing  that?" 

Rosie  flushed.  "Oh,  I  don't  know.  I've  been" — she 
hung  her  head — "  I've  been  pretty  bad,  you  know.  I've 
told  lies — and  I — I  tried  to  kill  myself — and  everything." 

"And  you  think  you'd  get  more  help  that  way  than  any 
other?"  ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  went  twice  lately — not  here — in 
town.     It  frightened  me.     I — I  liked  it." 

Had  Lois  dared  she  would  have  asked  if  Jim  Breen  had 
inspired  this  sudden  change,  but  she  said,  merely:  "Oh, 
I  don't  believe  your  father  and  mother  would  feel  badly  in 
the  end — not  if  it  brought  comfort  to  you,  Rosie  dear. 
Is  it  that  you  want  me  to  talk  to  them? — to  help  you 
out?" 

Rosie  nodded  silently,  and  with  face  averted  in  a  kind  of 
shame. 

"Very  well,  then,  I  will."  She  felt  it  due  to  her  own 
convictions  to  add:  "Perhaps  I  can  do  it  all  the  better 
because — because  my  personal  opinions  are  the  other  way. 

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THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

They'll  see  I'm  only  seeking  whatever  may  make  for  your 
happiness."  There  was  silence  for  a  few  seconds  before 
she  said,  in  conclusion,  "And  oh!  Rosie  dear,  I  do  hope 
you'll  be  happy,  after  all — all  that's  been  so  hard  for  you." 
Rosie  was  too  strong  and  self-contained  to  cry,  but 
there  was  a  mist  in  her  eyes  as  they  shook  hands  again 
and  parted. 

That  night  Lois  wrote  to  her  husband:  "You  ask  me, 
dear  Thor,  if  I  see  my  way  yet,  and  frankly  I  can't  say  that 
I  do.  I  begin,  however,  to  wonder  if  there  is  not  a  reason 
for  my  remaining  puzzled  and  so  long  in  the  dark.  I 
begin  to  ask  if  I  know  what  love  is — if  anybody  knows 
what  it  is.  Do  you?  If  so,  what  is  it?  Is  it  the  same 
thing  for  every  one?  or  does  it  differ  with  individuals? 
Is  it  a  temporary  thing? — or  a  permanent  thing? — or  does 
it  matter?  Is  it  one  of  the  highest  promptings  we  have? — 
or  one  of  the  lowest? — or  is  it  that  primary  impulse  of 
animate  nature  which  when  developed  and  perfected  leads 
to  God?  Is  there  a  spiritual  man  and  a  carnal  man,  each 
with  a  love  that  can  conflict  with  the  love  of  the  other? 
Is  the  one  man  on  the  side  of  the  angels,  as  Uncle  Sim 
would  say,  and  the  other  man  on  that  of  the  flesh,  till  the 
stronger  gains  the  victory?  Or  is  there  something  in  love 
of  the  nature  of  obsession?  Does  it  come  and  go  like  the 
tornado — as  violent  in  its  passage,  but  as  quickly  passed? 
Thor,  darling,  I  begin  to  be  afraid  of  lcve.  If  we  are  to 
start  again  I  want  it  to  be  on  some  other  ground — a  new 
ground — a  ground  we  don't  know  anything  about  as  yet, 
but  which  perhaps  we  shall  discover." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THORLEY  MASTERMAN  pondered  on  the  words 
Lois  had  written  him  as  he  tramped  along  the  bluffs 
above  the  Mississippi,  with  the  towers  and  spires  of 
Minneapolis  looming  like  battlements  through  the  haze 
of  an  afternoon  at  the  end  of  June.  He  had  left  the  con- 
ference on  new  methods  of  treating  the  thyroid  gland 
which  was  being  held  in  St.  Paul  in  order  to  think  his 
position  out.  Having  motored  over  from  his  hotel  in 
Minneapolis,  he  preferred  to  "tramp  it"  back.  The 
glorious  wooded  way  on  the  St.  Paul  side  of  the  river  was  in 
itself  an  invitation  to  his  strong,  striding  limbs,  while 
the  wine  of  Western  air  and  the  stimulus  of  Western 
energy  quickened  the  savage  outdoor  impulse  so  ready  to 
leap  in  his  blood.  The  song  of  mating  birds  quickened  it, 
too,  and  the  romance  of  the  river  gliding  through  the  gorge 
below,  and  the  beauty  of  the  cities  eying  each  other  like 
embattled  queens  from  headland  across  to  headland  and 
through  the  splendor  of  the  promise  of  a  gold-and-purple 
sunset. 

It  was  a  great  setting  for  great  thoughts,  inspiring  ideas 
so  large  that  when  he  reached  his  hotel  he  found  them  too 
big  to  reduce  easily  to  paper. 

'You  ask  me  what  love  is,  and  say  you  don't  know. 
I'm  more  daring  than  you  in  that  I  think  I  do  know.  I 
know  two  or  three  things  about  it,  even  if  I  don't  know  all. 

"For  one  thing,  I  know  that  no  one  can  do  more  than 
say  what  love  is  for  himself.  You  can't  say  what  it  is 
for  me,  or  isn't,  or  must  be,  or  ought  to  be.  That's  my 
secret.     I  can't  always  share  it,  or  at  any  rate  share  it  all, 

288 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

even  with  the  person  I  love.  But  neither  can  I  say  what 
it  is,  or  isn't,  or  should  be,  or  must  be,  for  you.  You  have 
your  secret.  No  two  people  love  in  the  same  way,  or 
get  precisely  the  same  kind  of  joy  or  sorrow  from  loving. 
Since  love  is  the  flower  of  personality,  it  has  the  same 
infinite  variety  that  personalities  possess.  We  give  one 
thing  and  we  get  back  another.  Do  not  some  of  our  irri- 
tations— I'm  not  speaking  of  you  and  me  in  particular — 
arise  from  the  fact  that,  giving  one  thing,  we  expect  to  get 
the  same  thing  back,  when  all  the  while  no  one  else  has 
that  special  quality  to  offer?  The  flower  is  different 
according  to  the  plant  that  produces  it.  When  the  pine- 
tree  loved  the  palm  there  was  more  than  the  distance  to 
make  the  one  a  mystery  to  the  other. 

"Of  the  two  things  essential  to  love,  the  first,  so  it  seems 
to  me,  is  that  what  one  gives  should  be  one's  best — the 
very  blossom  of  one's  soul.  It  may  have  the  hot  luxuri- 
ance of  the  hibiscus,  or  the  flame  of  the  wild  azalea  in  the 
woods,  or  no  more  than  the  mildly  scented,  flowerless 
bloom  of  the  elm  or  the  linden  that  falls  like  manna  in  the 
roadway.  Each  has  its  beauties  and  its  limitations;  but 
it  is  worth  noticing  that  each  serves  its  purpose  in  life's 
infinite  profusion  as  nothing  else  could  serve  it  to  that 
particular  end.  The  elm  lends  something  to  the  hibiscus 
— the  hibiscus  to  the  elm.  Neither  can  expect  back  what 
it  gives  to  the  other.  Perfection  is  accomplished  when 
each  offers  what  it  can. 

"Which  brings  me  to  the  remaining  thing  I  know  about 
love — that  it  exists  in  offering.  Love  is  the  desire  to  go 
outward,  to  pour  forth,  to  express,  to  do,  to  contribute. 
It  has  no  system  of  calculation  and  no  yard-stick  for  the 
little  more  or  the  little  less.  It  is  spontaneous  and  irre- 
pressible and  overflowing,  and  loses  the  extraordinary 
essence  that  makes  it  truly  love  when  it  weighs  and 
measures  and  inspects  too  closely  the  quality  of  its  return. 
It  is  in  the  fact  that  love  is  its  own  sufficiency,  its  own  joy, 
its  own  compensation  for  all  its  pain,  that  I  find  it  divine. 

289 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

The  one  point  on  which  I  can  fully  accept  your  Christian 
theology  is  that  your  God  is  love.  Given  a  God  who  is 
Love  and  a  Love  that  is  God,  I  can  see  Him  as  worthy  to 
be  worshiped.  Call  Him,  then,  by  any  name  you  please — 
Jehovah,  Allah,  Krishna,  Christ — you  still  have  the 
Essence,  the  Thing.  Love  to  be  love  must  feel  itself 
infinite,  or  as  nearly  infinite  as  anything  human  can  be. 
When  I  can't  pour  it  out  in  that  way — when  I  pause  to 
reflect  how  far  I  can  go,  or  reach  a  point  beyond  which 
I  see  that  I  cannot  go  any  further — I  do  not  truly  love." 

Having  written  this  much,  he  laid  down  his  pen  and 
considered.  He  had  said  nothing  personal,  unless  it  was 
by  implication.  It  was  only  after  long  meditation  that 
he  decided  to  leave  the  matter  there.  The  prime  question 
was  no  longer  as  to  whether  or  not  he  loved  her,  but  as  to 
whether  or  not  she  loved  htm.  That  was  for  her  to  decide. 
It  was  for  her  to  decide  without  his  urging  or  tormenting. 
He  began  to  feel  not  only  too  sensitive  on  the  subject, 
but  too  proud  to  make  appeals  to  which  she  would  prob- 
ably listen  out  of  generosity.  Since  he  had  been  in  the 
wrong,  it  was  for  her  to  make  the  advances;  and  so  he 
ended  his  letter  and  posted  it. 

The  discussion  continued  throughout  the  correspondence 
that  ensued  while  he  migrated  from  Minneapolis  to 
Milwaukee,  from  Milwaukee  to  Denver,  and  from  Denver 
to  Colorado  Springs.  It  was  partly  from  curiosity  of 
travel  that  he  zigzagged  in  this  way  across  the  country, 
and  partly  to  make  it  plain  to  Lois  without  saying  it  that 
he  awaited  her  permission  to  come  home.  That  he  should 
be  obliged  to  return  one  day,  without  her  permission  if  not 
with  it,  was  a  matter  of  course,  but  it  would  make  the 
meeting  easier  if  she  summoned  him.  As  a  hint  that  she 
could  do  so  and  have  no  fear,  he  asked  her  in  a  postscript 
to  one  of  his  letters  to  tell  him,  when  she  next  wrote,  what 
was  happening  to  Rosie  Fay. 

To  this  she  replied  as  simply  and  straightforwardly  as 
he  had  put  the  question,  imparting  all  that  Jim  Breen 

290 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

had  told  her  and  whatever  she  had  gleaned  for  herself, 
adding  as  a  seeming  afterthought  in  the  letter  she  wrote 
next  day: 

"If  Rosie  could  bring  herself  to  marry  Jim  it  would  be 
the  happiest  of  all  solutions,  and  make  things  easier  for 
Claude.  I  think  she  will.  If  so,  it  won't  be  so  much 
because  her  heart  will  have  been  caught  in  the  rebound  as 
that  the  poor  little  thing  is  mentally  and  emotionally 
exhausted,  and  glad  to  creep  into  the  arms  of  any  strong, 
good  man  who  will  love  her  and  take  care  of  her.  Just 
to  be  able  to  do  that  much  will  be  enough  for  Jim.  I  see 
a  good  deal  of  him;  so  I  know.  Every  time  he  brings 
an  order  of  new  plants  we  have  a  little  talk — always  about 
Rosie.  His  love  is  of  the  kind  you  wrote  about  the  other 
day;  it  has  no  yard-stick  for  the  little  more  or  the  little 
less  in  the  return.  Perhaps  men  can  love  like  that  more 
easily  than  women  do.  Uncle  Sim  seemed  to  hint  one 
evening  that  there  is  generally  a  selfish  strain  in  a  woman's 
love,  in  that  what  it  gets  is  more  precious  to  it  than  what 
it  gives.     I  wonder." 

Thor  received  these  two  letters  together  on  returning 
to  Colorado  Springs  from  a  day's  visit  to  that  high  wilder- 
ness in  which  John  Hay  sought  freedom  from  interruption 
in  writing  his  Life  of  Lincoln.  He  understood  fully  that 
Lois  was  deliberately  being  cruel  in  order  to  be  kind.  The 
very  spacing  out  of  her  information  over  two  separate 
days  was  meant  to  impress  him  and  at  the  same  time  to 
spare.  Things  would  be  easier  for  Claude,  she  said,  when 
she  meant  that  they  would  be  easier  for  him. 

But  for  him  it  was  a  matter  of  indifference.  That  is, 
it  was  the  same  kind  of  matter  of  indifference  that  pain 
becomes  in  a  limb  that  has  grown  benumbed.  For  reasons 
he  could  hardly  explain,  that  part  of  his  being  to  which 
Rosie  Fay  had  made  her  pathetic  appeal  couldn't  feel 
any  more.  It  was  like  something  atrophied  from  over- 
strain. There  was  the  impulse  to  suffer,  but  no  suffering. 
Moreover,  he  was  sure  that  though  these  nerves  might 

291 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

one  day  vibrate  again,  they  could  never  do  so  otherwise 
than  reminiscently.  To  the  episode  he  felt  as  a  mother 
might  feel  to  the  dead  child  she  has  never  been  able  to 
acknowledge  as  her  own.  It  was  something  buried,  and 
yet  sacred — sacred  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  never  should 
have  been.  As  an  incident  in  his  life  it  had  brought  keen 
joy  and  keener  pain,  but  he  had  already  outlived  both. 
He  had  outlived  them  as  apparently  Rosie  had  outlived 
them  herself — not  by  the  passage  of  time,  but  by  an 
intensity  of  experience  which  seemed  to  have  covered 
years. 

He  came  to  this  conclusion  not  instinctively,  nor  all  at 
once,  but  by  dint  of  reflection,  as  he  sat  on  the  broad  ter- 
race of  the  hotel,  watching  the  transformation  scene  that 
takes  place  in  the  Rockies  during  the  half-hour  before 
sunset.  His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth;  Lois's  letters  lay 
open  on  the  little  table  he  had  drawn  up  beside  his  chair. 
Other  tourists  bore  him  company,  scattered  singly  or  in 
groups,  smoking  and  drinking  tea.  A  mild  suggestion  of 
Europe,  a  suggestion  of  Cap  Martin  or  of  Cannes,  was 
blocked  by  the  domes  of  the  great  range  and  by  a  shifting 
interplay  of  magic  lights  where  his  eye  was  impelled  to 
look  for  the  broad,  still  levels  of  Mediterranean  blue. 

There  was  a  wonder  in  the  moment  which  the  yearning 
in  his  spirit  was  tempted  to  take  as  symbolic,  and  perhaps 
prophetic,  of  his  future.  Where  all  day  long  he  had  seen 
nothing  but  hard  ridges  packed  against  one  another, 
without  water,  without  snow,  without  perspective,  without 
a  shred  of  mist,  without  a  hint  of  mystery,  without  any- 
thing to  set  the  mind  to  wondering  what  was  above  them 
or  beyond  them,  the  dissolving  views  of  late  afternoon 
began  to  throw  up  a  succession  of  lovely  ranges,  pierced 
by  valleys,  glens,  and  gorges.  Where  the  eye  had  ached 
with  the  harsh  red  of  the  rocks  spread  with  the  harsh 
green  of  the  scant  vegetation,  soft  vapors  rose  insensibly — 
purple,  pink,  and  orange — changing  into  nameless  hues 
as  they  climbed  into  the  great  clefts  and  veiled  the  rolling 

292 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

domes  and  swathed  the  pinnacles  and  furrowed  the  deep 
passes  and  put  the  horizon  infinitely  far  away.  The 
transmutation  from  conditions  in  which  Nature  herself 
seemed  for  once  to  be  barbaric,  alien,  hostile  to  civilized 
man,  painted  with  Cheyenne  war-paint  and  girdled  with 
a  belt  of  scalps,  to  this  breaking  up  of  glory  into  glory, 
of  color  into  color,  and  of  form  into  form,  rising,  mingling, 
melting,  fading,  rising  and  mingling  again,  melting  again, 
fading  again,  passing  swiftly  in  a  last  brief  recrudescence 
from  gold  into  green  and  from  green  into  black,  with  the 
hurried  eclipse  and  the  sudden  tranquillity  of  night — the 
transmutation  which  produced  all  this  was  to  Thor  hope- 
ful and  in  its  way  inspiriting.  In  the  last  rays  of  light  he 
drew  out  his  fountain-pen  and  the  scribbling-book  he  kept 
for  notes  by  the  way,  writing  quickly  without  preamble  or 
formality. 

"Thanks  for  telling  me  about  Rosie.  It  is  as  it  should 
be — as  will  be  best.  Jim  saved  her.  Nothing  so  good 
could  ever  happen  to  her  as  to  marry  him. 

"As  for  me,  there  are  two  things,  Lois,  that  I  can 
truthfully  affirm.  I  can  declare  them  the  more  em- 
phatically because  I  have  had  time  to  think  them  over — 
to  think  you  over,  and  myself.  If  I  ever  had  a  doubt  about 
them  I  haven't  now,  because  leisure  and  solitude  have 
enabled  me  to  see  them  clearly.  The  first  is  that  I  have 
given  you  my  best;  and  the  second,  that  I  have  given 
it  without  any  restriction  of  which  I  have  been  aware. 
If  there  was  anything  I  withheld  from  you,  and  which 
you  think  you  should  have  had,  I  can  only  say  that  it 
was  not  of  the  nature  of  my  best.  What  it  was  I  make 
no  attempt  to  say,  nor  would  it  do  any  good  to  try.  What- 
ever it  was,  I  wish  neither  to  depreciate  it  nor  to  deny  it. 
It  was  something  that  swept  me — like  the  tornado  of  which 
one  of  your  letters  speaks — but  it  passed.  It  passed,  leav- 
ing me  tired  and  older — oh,  very  much  older! — and  with 
an  intense  desire  to  creep  home.  As  a  physicist  I  know 
nothing  of  a  carnal  man  and  a  spiritual  man,  so  that  I 

293 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

cannot  enter  into  your  analysis;  but  I  do  know  that  there 
are  higher  and  lower  promptings  in  the  human  heart,  and 
that  in  my  case  the  higher  turn  to  you.  As  compared  with 
you  I'm  only  as  the  ship  compared  to  the  haven  in  which 
it  would  take  refuge.  The  ship  is  good  for  something,  but 
it  needs  a  port." 

Again  he  decided  to  leave  his  appeal  suspended  here, 
and  on  the  next  morning  began  his  preparations  for 
gradually  turning  homeward. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

IT  was  William  Sweetapple,  the  gardener's  boy,  who  in- 
formed Lois  that  Claude  had  come  back,  throwing  the  in- 
formation casually  over  his  shoulder  as  he  watered  the  lawn. 

"Seen  Mr.  Claude  to-day,  'm." 

"Oh  no,  you  didn't,  Sweetapple,"  Lois  contradicted. 
"Mr.  Claude  is  in  the  West." 

"He  may  be  in  the  West  now,  'm,  but  he  wasn't  at 
twenty-five  minutes  past  two  this  afternoon." 

Sudden  fear  brought  Lois  down  a  step  or  two  of  the 
portico,  over  the  Corinthian  pillars  of  which  roses  clam- 
bered in  early  July  profusion.  In  white,  with  a  broad- 
brimmed  Winterhalter  hat  from  which  a  floating  green 
veil  hung  over  her  shoulders  and  down  her  back,  her 
strong,  slim  figure  seemed  to  have  gained  in  fulfilment 
of  herself  even  in  the  weeks  that  Thor  had  been  away. 

"Where  did  you  see  him,  Sweetapple? — or  think  you 
saw  him?" 

Sweetapple  turned  the  nozzle  of  the  hose  so  as  to  de- 
velop a  crown  of  spray  with  which  he  bedewed  the  roses 
of  all  colors  grouped  in  a  great  central  bed.  "I  didn't 
think,  'm.     It  was  him." 

"Well,  where?" 

"See  him  first  going  into  the  woods  leading  up  to  Duck 
Rock.  That  was  when  I  was  on  my  way  to  Lawyer 
Petley's." 

"  Did  you  see  him  twice?" 

"See  him  again  as  I  come  back.  He  was  down  in  the 
road  by  that  time — looking  up  toward  old  man  Fay's — 
Hadley  B.  Hobson's  place  that  is  to  be.     Old  man  Fay's 

295 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

got  to  quit.  Family  moved  already.  You  knew  that, 
didn't  you,  'm?" 

It  was  because  Lois  was  really  alarmed  by  this  time  that 
she  said,  "Oh,  you  must  have  been  mistaken,  Sweet- 
apple!" 

"Just  as  you  say,  'm,"  Sweetapple  agreed;  "but  I  see 
him;  it  was  him." 

She  withdrew  again,  reseating  herself  in  the  shade  of 
the  semicircular  open  porch  protecting  the  side-door,  where 
she  had  been  writing  on  a  pad.  Though  so  near  the  road- 
way, a  high  growth  of  shrubs  screened  her  from  all  but  the 
passers  up  and  down  Willoughby's  Lane.  At  this  time  of 
year  they  were  relatively  few,  many  of  the  residents  of 
County  Street  having  already  gone  to  the  seaside  or  the 
mountains.  Lois  enjoyed  the  seclusion  thus  afforded  her, 
and  the  tranquillity.  The  garden  and  her  poorer  neigh- 
bors gave  an  outlet  to  her  need  for  physical  activity,  while 
in  the  solitude  of  the  house  and  in  that  wider  solitude 
created  by  the  absence  of  all  the  Willoughbys  and  Master- 
mans  something  within  her  was  being  healed.  It  was 
being  healed — but  healed  in  a  way  that  left  her  changed. 
The  change  was  manifest  in  what  she  said  when,  with  the 
pad  on  her  knee  again,  she  began  to  write. 

"I  am  deeply  moved,  dear  Thor,  by  your  last  letter 
from  Colorado  Springs,  and  would  gladly  say  something 
adequate  in  response  to  it.  When  I  can  I  will — if  I  ever 
can.  As  to  that  the  decisive  word  must  be  with  time. 
I  cannot  hurry  it.  I  can  give  you  no  assurance  now. 
Now  I  feel — but  why  should  I  repeat  it?  An  illusion  once 
dispelled  can  rarely  be  brought  back.  Still  less  can  you 
replace  it  by  reality.  What  we  are  looking  for  is  a  sub- 
stitute for  love.  You  may  have  found  it — but  I  have 
not.  I  can  accept  your  definition  of  love  as  a  giving  out, 
a  pouring  forth,  a  desire  to  do  and  to  contribute;  but 
it  is  precisely  here  that  I  fail  to  respond  to  the  test. 
There  is  something  in  me  stagnated  or  dammed  up. 
My  heart  feels  like  a  well  that  has  gone  dry.     I  have 

296 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

nothing  to  yield.  I  understand  what  Rosie  Fay  said 
to  me  the  day  when  I  talked  to  her  on  Duck  Rock: 
'I'm  empty;  I've  given  all  I  had  to  give.'  It  was  less 
blameworthy  on  her  part  than  on  mine,  because  she,  poor 
little  thing,  had  given  so  much  and  I  so  little.  And  yet 
my  supply  seems  to  be  exhausted.  It  must  have  been 
thin  and  shallow  to  begin  with.  As  I  feel  at  present  it 
would  take  a  new  creation  to  replenish  it. 

"With  regard  to  my  calling  forth  what  is  best  in  you, 
dear  Thor — well,  any  one  would  do  that  or  anything. 
You're  one  of  those  who  have  nothing  but  the  best  to 
offer.  Do  you  know  what  Uncle  Sim  said  of  you  last 
night?' — 'Thor  is  always  on  the  side  of  the  angels — and, 
though  he  makes  mistakes,  they'll  rescue  him.'  They 
will,  dear  Thor;  I'm  sure  of  it.  They  may  rescue  us 
both — even  if  at  present  I  don't  see  how." 

Having  written  this  much,  she  paused  to  ask  what  she 
should  say  further.  Should  she  speak  of  his  coming 
home?  No.  Since  the  address  he  had  given  her  indicated 
that  he  was  on  his  way,  it  was  best  that  he  should  take 
the  responsibility  of  his  own  return.  Should  she  tell 
him  that  Sweetapple  thought  he  had  seen  Claude?  No. 
It  would  alarm  him  without  doing  any  good.  If  Claude 
was  back,  he  was  back — besides  which,  Sweetapple  might 
be  wrong.  So  she  signed  her  name  with  her  usual  signifi- 
cant abruptness,  sealing  the  envelope  and  addressing  it. 

Her  hesitation  came  in  putting  on  the  stamp.  Some- 
how the  letter  seemed  too  cold  to  send.  She  didn't  want 
to  be  cold — only  to  be  sincere.  Sincerity  during  these 
weeks  of  solitude  had  become  a  sort  of  obsession.  She 
couldn't  tell  him  that  she  had  forgiven  him  as  long  as 
resentment  lingered  in  her  heart,  and  yet  she  was  anxious 
not  to  wound  him  more  than  she  could  help.  Wounding 
him  she  wounded  herself  more  deeply,  for  in  spite  of 
everything  his  pain  was  hers. 

Slowly  she  tore  the  letter  open  again,  to  a  sunset 
chorus  of  birds  of  whose  song  she  had  just  become. 
20  297 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

conscious.  From  tree  to  tree  they  fluted  to  one  an- 
other and  answered  back,  now  with  a  reckless,  passion- 
ate warble,  now  with  a  long,  liquid  love-note.  It  was  the 
voice  of  the  rich  world  that  lay  around  her — a  world  of 
flowers  and  lawns,  and  meadows  and  upland  woods,  and 
cool,  deep  shades  and  mellowing  light.  But  it  was  also 
the  voice  that  had  accompanied  her  into  the  enchanted 
land  on  that  winter's  day  when  Thor  had  kissed  her 
wrist.  The  day  seemed  now  immeasurably  far  away  in 
time,  and  the  enchanted  land  had  been  left  behind  her; 
but  the  voice  was  still  there,  fluting,  calling,  reminding, 
entreating,  with  an  insistence  that  almost  made  her  weep. 

She  wrote  hurriedly  in  postscript:  "If  there  was  ever 
anything  I  could  do  for  you,  dear  Thor,  perhaps  what  I 
used  to  feel  would  come  back  to  me.  If  it  only  would! 
If  I  could  only  be  great  and  generous  and  inexacting  as 
you  would  be!  I  want  to  be,  Thor  darling;  I  long  to  be; 
but  I  am  like  a  person  paralyzed,  whose  limbs  no  longer 
answer  to  his  will.  I  pray  for  recovery  and  restoration — 
but  will  it  ever  come?" 

As  encouragement  to  Thor  she  was  no  more  satisfied  with 
this  than  with  what  she  had  said  earlier,  but  it  expressed 
all  she  could  allow  herself  to  say.  Anything  more  would 
have  permitted  him  to  infer  such  things  as  he  had  per- 
mitted her  to  infer,  an  accident  that  must  have  no  repeti- 
tion. She  ended  the  note  definitely,  getting  it  ready  for 
the  post. 

She  was  still  engaged  in  doing  so  when,  the  crunching 
of  footsteps  causing  her  to  lift  her  head,  she  saw  Claude. 
Having  come  round  to  the  side  portico  on  a  hint  from 
William  Sweetapple,  he  stood  at  a  little  distance,  smiling. 
He  was  smiling,  but  as  a  dead  man  might  smile.  Lois 
could  neither  rise  nor  speak,  from  awe.  Claude  himself 
could  neither  speak  nor  advance.  He  stood  like  a  specter 
— but  a  specter  who  has  been  in  hell.  The  very  smile  was 
that  of  the  specter  who  has  no  right  to  come  out  of  hell, 
and  yet  has  come. 

298 


"thor  is  always  on  the  side  of  the  angels" 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Lois  was  not  precisely  troubled;  she  was  terrified. 
If  Claude  had  only  spoken  a  word  or  taken  a  step  forward 
it  would  have  broken  the  spell  that  held  her  dazed  and 
dumb.  But  he  did  nothing.  He  only  stood  and  smiled — 
that  awful  smile  which  expressed  more  anguish  than  any 
rictus  of  pain.  He  stood  just  as  he  came  into  sight,  on 
turning  the  corner  of  the  house,  with  the  many  colors 
of  the  rose-bed  at  his  left  hand.  It  was  exactly  like 
this,  she  had  always  imagined,  that  disembodied  spir- 
its or  astral  forms  made  their  appearances  to  portend 
death. 

She  got  possession  of  her  faculties  at  last.  "Claude!" 
She  could  just  whisper  it. 

He  continued  to  smile  as  he  advanced  and  came  up  the 
steps;  but  it  was  not  till  he  was  actually  beside  her  that 
he  said,  in  a  voice  which  might  also  have  been  that  of  a 
dead  man,  "You  didn't  expect  me,  did  you?" 

She  remembered  afterward  that  they  neither  shook 
hands  nor  exchanged  any  of  the  usual  forms  of  greeting, 
but  at  the  minute  it  didn't  seem  natural  that  they  should. 
Her  own  tone  was  as  strained  as  his  as  she  answered, 
awesomely:  "No.  Sit  down,  Claude.  When  did  you 
come?" 

Throwing  his  hat  on  the  floor,  he  dropped  wearily  into 
a  deck-chair  and  closed  his  eyes.  With  the  sharp  profile 
grown  extraordinarily  white  and  thin,  the  dead-man  expres- 
sion terrified  her  again.  She  wished  he  would  raise  his 
head  and  look  at  her — look  more  like  life.  All  he  did 
was  to  open  his  eyes  heavily,  as  he  replied,  "Got  back 
yesterday." 

It  was  less  from  interest  than  from  the  desire  to  get  on 
the  plane  of  actual  things  that  she  asked,  "Where  are  you 
staying?" 

"Slept  at  the  house  last  night.  Old  Maggs,  the  care- 
taker, has  the  key,  so  I  made  him  let  me  in." 

"But  are  you  going  to  stay  any  time?" 

"Might  as  well.     Don't  see  why  not." 

299 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

There  was  so  much  to  say  and  so  much  she  was  afraid 
to  say  that  she  hardly  knew  with  what  to  begin.  "  Weren't 
you,"  she  ventured,  timidly — "weren't  you  having  a  good 
time?" 

His  answer  as  he  lay  back  with  eyes  closed  again  was 
another  of  his  smiles,  only  dimmer  now  with  a  faint 
bitter-sweetness.  She  knew  it  was  like  asking  a  man  if 
his  pain  is  better  when  it  is  killing  him.  Nevertheless,  the 
ground  of  common,  practical  things  was  the  only  one  to 
keep  to,  so  she  went  on:  "But  you  won't  like  sleeping  at 
the  house  every  night — with  no  one  in  it.  Don't  you 
want  to  come  here?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,  thanks.  Mrs.  Maggs  will 
make  my  bed  and  give  me  breakfast.  That's  all  I  need. 
Get  the  rest  of  my  meals  in  town." 

"But  you'll  stay  to  dinner  now,  won't  you?" 

He  lifted  himself  up  in  his  chair  at  last,  his  face  taking 
on  its  first  look  of  life.     "Thor  be  there?" 

"Why,  no.  Thor's  away — in  the  West.  Didn't  you 
know?" 

He  started  nervously.  "Away  in  the  West?  Not 
looking  for  me?" 

She  tried  to  smile.  "Of  course  not.  He  went  to  attend 
the  medical  congress  in  Minneapolis.  He's  on  his  way 
home  now." 

"When  do  you  expect  him?" 

"Oh,  not  at  once.  I  don't  know  when.  He's  taking 
his  time." 

He  studied  her  awhile,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  read  her 
secret.     "What  for?" 

"To  see  the  country,  I  suppose.  My  last  letter  was 
from  Colorado  Springs." 

He  dropped  back  into  the  chair  with  a  tired  sigh  of 
relief.     "All  right.     I'll  stay  to  dinner.     Thanks." 

She  allowed  him  to  rest,  asking  no  more  questions  than 
she  could  help  till  dinner  was  over  and  they  had  come  out 
again  on  the  portico,  so  that  he  might  have  his  cigar  in 

300 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

the  cool,  scented  evening  air.  She  was  more  at  ease 
with  him,  too,  now  that  she  could  no  longer  see  the  suf- 
fering in  his  pinched,  emaciated  face. 

"Claude,  why  did  you  come  home?" 

He  withdrew  the  cigar  from  his  lips  just  long  enough  to 
say,  "Because  I  couldn't  stay  away." 

"Why  couldn't  you?" 

"Because  I  couldn't." 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  have  been  well  to  make  the 
effort?" 

"What  was  the  good  of  making  the  effort  when  I 
couldn't  keep  it  up?" 

"But  you  kept  it  up  for  a  while." 

"Not  after— after  I  heard." 

"Heard  about  Rosie?" 

He  made  an  inarticulate  sound  of  assent. 

"What  did  you  hear?" 

"I  heard — what  she  did." 

"How?    Who  told  you?" 

"That  chump  Billy  Cheever.     Wrote  me." 

"How  did  he  know  it  had  anything  to  do  with  you?" 

"Oh,  I  was  fool  enough  to  tell  him  about  her  once — 
and  so  he  caught  on  to  it.  Put  two  and  two  together,  I 
suppose,  when  he  heard  that — that — " 

She  seized  the  opportunity  to  make  the  first  incision 
toward  getting  in  her  point.  "That  she  threw  herself 
into  the  pond?  Did  he  say  that  Jim  Breen  dived  after 
her  and  brought  her  up?" 

He  answered  indifferently.  "He  said  some  one  did. 
He  didn't  say  who." 

"It  was  Jim.  He  saved  her."  As  the  statement 
evoked  no  response,  she  continued,  "Claude,  what  did 
you  come  home  for  f" 

Again  he  withdrew  his  cigar  from  his  mouth,  looking 
at  her  obliquely.     "To  marry  her." 

She  allowed  some  time  to  elapse  before  saying,  "Claude, 
I  don't  think  you  will." 

301 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

"Oh  yes,  I  shall." 

"What  makes  you  so  sure?" 

"Because  I  am." 

"I'm  not.  Or,  rather,  if  I  am  sure — it's  the  other 
way." 

He  sprang  up,  seizing  her  by  the  arm  over  which  there 
was  nothing  but  a  gauze  scarf  by  way  of  covering.  "Lois, 
for  God's  sake!  What  do  you  mean?  You  know  some- 
thing. Tell  me.  She  hasn't  gone  away  with  Thor,  has 
she?" 

She,  too,  sprang  up,  shaking  off  his  hand  as  if  it  had 
been  a  serpent.  "You  fool!  Don't  touch  me!  She'll 
marry  Jim  Breen.  She'll  be  in  love  with  him  in  a  week 
or  two." 

It  was  all  over  in  an  instant,  but  the  blaze  in  her  eyes 
seemed  literally  to  knock  him  down.  He  fell  back  into 
the  deck-chair  again,  though  he  sat  astride  on  it  with  his 
feet  on  the  floor,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Lois,"  he  muttered,  humbly. 
"I  don't  know  what  I'm  saying." 

"No,  you  don't,"  she  agreed,  speaking  breathlessly 
because  the  leaping  of  her  heart  was  so  wild;  "but  that's 
hardly  an  excuse  for  taking  leave  altogether  of  your 


senses." 


He  continued  to  mutter  into  his  hands.  "I'm  crazy! 
I'm  drunk!  I'm  stark  mad!  But,  oh,  Lois,  if  you  knew 
what  I've  been  through  you  wouldn't  mind." 

The  hot  anger  that  had  rolled  over  her  with  a  wrath 
such  as  she  had  never  felt  before  began  to  roll  away  again, 
leaving  her  sick  and  shivering.  It  was  an  excuse  for  going 
into  the  house  to  find  a  cloak  and  for  getting  the  minute's 
respite  necessary  to  self-control.  To  regain  it — to  over- 
come that  throb  of  her  being  of  which  the  after  effect  was 
a  faintness  unto  death — she  was  obliged  to  walk  steadily, 
holding  her  head  high.  She  was  obliged,  too,  to  repent 
of  the  tigress  impulse  with  which  she  had  turned  on 
Claude,  flinging  in  his  face  that  for  which  she  had  meant 

302 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

to  prepare  him  by  degrees.  The  fact  that  it  had  seem- 
ingly passed  over  his  head  was  no  palliation  to  the  out- 
rage. As  she  mounted  the  stairs  and  went  to  her  room 
she  repeated  her  own  formula:  "Nothing  that  isn't  kind 
and  well  thought  out  beforehand.'"  What  she  had  said  had 
been  neither  well  thought  out  nor  kind,  but  the  tempta- 
tion had  been  overwhelming.  For  the  instant  it  had 
seemed  secondary  that  Thor  hadn't  taken  Rosie  to  the 
West,  since  Claude,  who  knew  so  much  more  of  the  inner 
history  of  the  episode  than  she  did  herself,  had  thought 
such  an  action  possible.  More  clearly  than  ever  before 
she  saw  that  some  appalling  struggle  for  the  possession 
of  the  little  creature  must  have  taken  place,  and  that  it 
had  been  going  on  during  those  months  when  life  was 
apparently  so  peaceful  and  she  had  been  living  in  her 
fool's  paradise.  It  was  not  till  he  had  lost  the  fight  that 
Thor  had  come  to  her  in  the  snow-bound  woods  with  the 
twitter  of  birds  and  the  deep  music  of  the  tree-tops 
accompanying  those  half-truths  she  had  been  eager  to 
believe.  She  herself  had  been  fatuous  and  vain  in  assum- 
ing that  he  could  love  her;  but  if  there  was  little  to  say  for 
her,  there  was  nothing  at  all  to  be  said  for  him.  He  had 
been  the  more  false  for  the  reason  that,  as  far  as  he  went, 
he  had  been  sincere.  It  was  his  very  sincerity  that  had 
tricked  her.  Less  than  at  any  time  since  the  day  when 
he  had  stammered  out  his  futile  explanations  did  she  feel 
it  possible  to  pardon  him. 

But  there  was  something  else.  Now,  if  she  chose,  she 
could  know.  In  his  present  state  of  mind  Claude  would 
betray  anything.  She  had  only  to  question  him,  to  throw 
the  emphasis  adroitly  here  or  there,  and  the  whole  story 
would  come  out.  It  was  like  having  a  key  come  into  her 
hands — a  key  that  would  unlock  all  those  mysteries  which 
were  her  terror.  She  was  still  irresolute,  however,  as  to 
using  it  after  she  had  taken  an  old  opera-cloak  from  a 
wardrobe,  thrown  it  over  her  shoulders,  and  gone  down- 
stairs again. 

303 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  found  Claude  as  she  had  left  him — astride  on  the 
deck-chair,  his  face  in  his  hands,  the  burning  end  of  the 
cigar  that  protruded  between  his  fingers  making  a  point 
of  light.  The  abject  attitude  moved  her  to  pity  in  spite 
of  everything.  She  herself  remained  standing,  her  tall 
figure  thrown  into  dim  relief  between  two  of  the  white 
Corinthian  pillars  of  the  portico.  By  standing,  it  seemed 
to  her  obscurely,  she  could  more  easily  escape  if  any  such 
awful  revelation  as  she  was  afraid  of  were  to  spring  on  her 
against  her  will.  She  could  almost  feel  it  waiting  for  her 
in  the  depths  of  the  heavy-scented  darkness. 

For  the  minute,  however,  the  folly  of  Claude's  return 
was  the  matter  immediately  to  be  dealt  with;  to  get  him 
to  go  away  again  was  the  end  to  be  attained.  It  was  with 
this  in  view,  as  well  as  with  a  measure  of  compassion,  that 
she  said: 

"You  poor  Claude!  You  have  been  through  things, 
haven't  you?" 

The  answer  came  laconically:  "Been  in  hell." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  thought,"  she  agreed,  simply.  "I 
thought  it  the  instant  you  came  round  the  corner  this 
afternoon.     But  why?    For  what  reason — exactly?" 

He  lifted  his  haunted  face,  stammering  out  his  recital 
in  a  way  that  reminded  her  of  Thor.  She  could  see  that 
he  had  profited  by  his  mistake  of  a  few  minutes  earlier, 
and  that  just  as  Thor  had  tried  to  tell  Claude's  story  with- 
out involving  his  own,  so  Claude  was  endeavoring  to 
spare  her  by  doing  the  same  thing.  Being  able  to  supply 
the  blanks  more  accurately  now  than  on  the  former 
occasion,  she  found  a  kind  of  poignant,  torturing  amuse- 
ment in  fitting  her  knowledge  in. 

He  began  with  his  first  meeting  with  Rosie,  describing 
the  scene.  He  had  not  taken  the  adventure  seriously,  not 
any  more  than  he  had  taken  a  dozen  similar.  Girls  like 
that  could  generally  be  thrown  off  as  easily  as  they  were 
taken  on,  and  they  bore  you  no  ill-will  for  the  change. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  new  flirtation  generally  began  where 

3°4 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

the  old  one  ended,  which  made  part  of  the  fun  for  the 
girl  as  for  the  man.  He  was  speaking  of  respectable  girls, 
Lois  was  to  understand — village  girls,  shop  girls,  and  others 
of  the  higher  wage-earning  variety,  who  didn't  mind  show- 
ing a  spice  of  devil  before  they  married  and  settled  down. 
Lots  of  them  didn't,  and  were  no  worse  for  it  in  the  end. 
It  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  Rosie  would  be  different 
from  others  of  the  class,  or  that  she  would  take  in  deadly 
earnest  what  was  no  more  than  play  for  him. 

When  he  had  made  this  discovery  he  had  tried  to  with- 
draw, but  only  with  the  result  of  becoming  involved  more 
deeply.  Over  the  processes  by  which  he  was  led  finally 
to  pledge  himself  he  grew  incoherent,  as  also  over  the  signs 
which  caused  him  to  suspect  that  Rosie  was  playing  fast 
and  loose  with  him.  His  mutterings  as  to  "  somebody  else 
who  was  in  love  with  her"  and  who  was  "ready  to  put 
up  money"  threw  her  back  on  memories  of  his  uneasy 
questions  concerning  Thor  on  the  evenings  after  the  return 
from  the  honeymoon.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  the  key 
slipping  into  the  lock  that  she  said : 

"And  that  made  you  jealous?" 

"As  the  devil.  It  was  because  it  did  that  I  knew  I 
couldn't  give  her  up — that  I'd  never  let  her  go." 

There  was  sincere  curiosity  in  her  tone  as  she  asked  the 
question,  "But,  Claude,  why  did  you?" 

"Because  she  lied  to  me." 

"Oh!     And  had  you  never  lied  to  her?" 

He  mumbled  something  about  that  not  being  the  same 
thing.  "She  swore  to  me  that  there'd  never  been  any 
put-up  job  between  her  and — and — " 

She  helped  him  out.  "The — the  other  person."  She 
could  hear  the  key  grating  as  it  turned.  "And  was 
there?" 

He  made  the  impatient,  circular  movement  of  his  head, 
as  though  his  collar  chafed  him,  with  which  she  was 
familiar.  He  was  gaining  time  in  order  to  use  tact. 
"Oh,  I  don't  know.     There  was — there  was  something. 

305 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Whatever  it  was,  she  denied  it,  when  all  the  while  they 


were — " 


She  felt  obliged  fully  to  turn  the  key.  She  knew  how 
perilous  the  question  might  be,  but  it  was  beyond  her  to 
keep  it  back.     "They  were  what,  Claude?" 

"They  were  trying  to  catch  me  in  a  trap." 

It  was  like  the  door  into  the  hall  of  mysteries  opening, 
but  only  to  make  disclosures  dimmer  and  more  mystifying 
still.  The  postponement  of  dreadful  certainties  enabled 
her,  however,  to  say  with  some  slight  relief,  "But  this — 
this  other  person  couldn't  have  been  very  fond  of  her 
himself  if  he — if  he  gave  her  up  to  you." 

He  bowed  his  head  still  lower  into  his  hands,  muttering 
toward  the  floor:  "Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  care — 
now.  Anyhow,  she  lied  to  me,  and" — he  lifted  his  hag- 
gard eyes  again — "and  I  jumped  at  it.  I  saw  the  way 
out — and  I  jumped  at  it.  I  told  her — I  told  her — I'd  go 
and  marry  some  one  else." 

"Did  you  mean  Elsie  Darling?" 

He  nodded  speechlessly. 

It  was  to  come  back  again  to  the  point  which  her  anger 
had  caused  her  to  miss  that  she  went  forward  and  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder  kindly.  "I  would,  Claude,  if  I 
were  you,"  she  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice.  "She'd 
make  you  a  good  wife." 

"No  one  will  make  me  a  good  wife  now,"  he  said, 
hoarsely.  "I'm  going  to  marry  Rosie.  I'll  marry  her  if 
it  puts  me  in  the  gutter.  I'll  marry  her  if  I  never  have  a 
cent." 

She  went  back  to  her  place  between  the  pillars,  leaning 
against  one  of  them.  "But,  Claude,"  she  reasoned, 
"would  that  do  any  good?  Would  it  make  either  of  you 
happy,  after  all  that's  been  said  and  done?" 

He  seemed  to  writhe.  "I  don't  care  anything  about 
that.     I've  got  to  do  it." 

"You  haven't  got  to  do  it  if  Rosie  doesn't  want  it." 

"It's  got  nothing  to  do  with  her." 

306 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Nothing  to  do 
with  her?     What  do  you  mean?" 

He  tried  to  explain  further.  He  had  not  primarily 
come  back  to  atone  for  the  suffering  he  had  inflicted  on 
Rosie,  or  because  his  love  for  her  was  such  that  he  couldn't 
live  without  her.  He  had  come  back  to  propitiate  the 
demon  within  himself — the  demon  or  the  god,  he  was  not 
sure  which  it  was,  for  it  possessed  the  attributes  of  both. 
He  had  come  back  to  escape  the  chastisement  his  soul  in- 
flicted on  itself — because  without  coming  back  he  could 
no  longer  be  a  man.  He  had  come  back  because  the 
Furies  had  driven  him  with  their  whip  of  knotted  snakes, 
and  he  could  do  nothing  but  yield  to  their  hounding.  If 
Lois  thought  that  traveling  in  the  West  was  beer  and 
skittles  when  hunted  and  scourged  by  yourself  like  that — 
well,  she  had  better  try  it  and  see. 

What  she  must  understand  already  was  that  Rosie 
and  happiness  had  become  minor  considerations.  He 
would  sacrifice  both  to  regain  a  measure  of  his  self-respect. 
He  had  never  supposed,  and  he  didn't  suppose  now,  that 
Rosie  would  be  happy  in  marrying  him,  but  that  was  no 
longer  to  the  point.  The  demon  or  the  god  must  be 
appeased,  at  no  matter  what  cost  to  the  victim. 

He  made  these  explanations  not  straightforwardly  or 
concisely,  but  with  rambling  digressions  that  took  him 
over  half  the  Middle  West.  He  described,  or  hinted  at, 
all  sorts  of  scenes,  peopled  by  gay  young  business  men  and 
garnished  by  pretty  girls,  in  which  he  could  have  enjoyed 
himself  had  it  not  been  for  the  enemy  in  his  heart.  It 
wasn't  merely  that  he  had  thrown  over  Rosie  with  a 
cruelty  that  made  her  try  to  kill  herself,  and  still  less  was 
it  that  he  couldn't  live  down  his  love  when  once  he  set 
about  it.  It  was  that  the  Claude  who  might  have  been 
was  strangled  and  slain,  leaving  him  no  inner  fellowship 
but  with  the  Claude  who  was.  Reviving  the  Claude  who 
might  have  been  was  like  reviving  a  corpse,  and  yet  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  make  the  attempt. 

307 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

"I'm  a  gentlemen — what?"  he  asked,  raising  his  white 
face  pitifully.     "I  must  act  like  a  gentlemen — what?" 

"Yes,  but  if  it's  too  late,  Claude — for  that  particular 
thing?" 

"Oh,  but  it  isn't — it  won't  be — not  when  she  sees  me." 

"It  might  be;  and  if  she  doesn't  want  it,  Claude,  I 
don't  see  why  you — " 

"You  don't  see  why  because  you're  not  me.  If  you 
were,  you  would.  A  woman  hasn't  a  man's  sense  of 
honor,  anyhow." 

She  let  this  pass  with  an  inward  smile  in  order  to  say, 
"But,  Claude,  suppose  you  can't  do  it?" 

He  twisted  his  neck,  with  his  customary  chafing, 
irritated  movement.     "I'll  do  it — or  croak." 

"Oh,  but  that's  nonsense!" 

"To  you — not  to  me.  You  haven't  been  through  the 
mill  that  I've  been  ground  up  in.  You  don't  know  what 
it  is  to  have  been  born — born  a  gentleman — and  to  have 
blasted  yourself  into  human  remains.  That's  what  I  am 
now — not  a  man — to  say  nothing  of  a  gentleman — just 
human  remains — too  awful  to  look  at." 

She  tried  to  reason  with  him.  "But,  Claude,  you 
mustn't  exaggerate  things  or  put  the  punishment  out  of 
proportion  to  the  crime.  Admitting  that  what  you  did 
to  Rosie  was  dishonorable — brutal,  if  you  like — " 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that.  It's  what  I  did  to  myself.  Can't 
you  see?" 

She  saw,  but  not  with  the  intensity  of  Claude  himself. 
Sitting  down  at  last,  she  let  him  talk  again.  He  had  felt 
something  shattered  in  him,  so  he  said,  at  the  very  minute 
when  he  had  turned  to  leave  the  cucumber-house  on  the 
day  of  the  final  rupture.  He  knew  already  that  he  was  a 
cad,  and  that  he  was  doing  what  only  a  cad  would  have 
done;  but  he  had  expected  the  remorse  to  pass.  He  had 
known  himself  for  a  cad  on  other  occasions,  and  yet  had 
outlived  the  sense  of  shame.  That  he  should  outlive  it 
again  he  had  taken  for  granted,  though  he  knew  that  this 

308 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

time  he  couldn't  do  it  without  suffering.  He  was  willing 
to  take  the  suffering.  He  was  not  specially  unwilling  that 
Rosie  should  take  it,  too.  In  her  way  she  had  been  as 
much  to  blame  as  he  was.  Though  he  didn't  question 
the  sincerity  of  her  love  for  him,  she  had  plotted  and 
schemed  to  catch  him,  because  from  her  point  of  view 
he  was  a  rich  man's  son,  and  even  so  had  had  moments 
of  disloyalty.  He  found  it  not  unreasonable  to  expect 
her  to  share  the  responsibility  for  what  had  overtaken 
her.  But  she,  too,  would  outlive  the  pain  of  it  and 
follow  his  example  in  marrying  some  one  else. 

Lois  felt  her  opportunity  to  have  fully  come.  "I 
think  she  will.  She'll  marry  Jim  Breen — if  you'll  only 
leave  her  alone." 

"Oh,  rot!" 

The  tone  expressed  the  degree  of  importance  he  attached 
to  this  possibility.  He  went  on  again,  discursively,  inco- 
herently, covering  much  of  the  same  ground,  but  with  new 
and  illuminating  details,  details  of  which  the  background 
was  still  a  jumble  of  suppers  and  dances  and  journeys, 
but  in  which  the  god  or  the  demon  gave  him  no  rest.  His 
distaste  for  diversion  having  declared  itself  from  the  day 
of  his  starting  for  Chicago,  he  had  whipped  up  an  appetite 
to  counteract  it.  Availing  himself  of  the  freedom  of  a 
young  man  plentifully  supplied  with  money  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  had  made  use  of  all  the  resources  with 
which  strange  and  exciting  cities  could  furnish  him  to 
get  back  his  zest  in  light-heartedness.  The  result  was  not 
in  pleasure,  but  in  disgust,  and  a  horror  of  himself  that 
grew.  It  grew  from  the  beginning,  like  some  giant 
poisonous  weed.  It  grew  while  he  was  in  Chicago;  it 
grew  with  each  further  stage  of  his  journey — in  St.  Louis, 
in  Cincinnati,  in  Los  Angeles.  It  was  in  Los  Angeles  that 
he  had  received  Billy  Cheever's  letter  with  the  news  of 
Rosie's  mad  leap,  and  he  knew  for  a  certainty  that  the 
only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  turn  his  face  eastward. 
Whatever  happened,  and  whoever  suffered,  he  must  re- 

309 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

deem  himself.  Redemption  had  become  for  him  a  need 
more  urgent  than  food,  more  vital  than  life.  Though  he 
didn't  use  the  word,  though  his  terms  were  simple  and 
boyish  and  slangy,  Lois  could  see  that  his  stress  was  that 
which  sent  pilgrims  to  the  Holy  Sepulcher,  and  drove 
Judas  to  go  and  hang  himself.  Redemption  lay  in 
marrying  Rosie,  and  restoring  his  honor,  and  bringing  the 
Claude  who  might  have  been  back  to  life.  Indeed,  it  was 
difficult  to  tell  at  times  which  of  the  two  was  slain — 
whether  the  Claude  who  might  have  been,  or  the  other 
Claude — so  distraught  and  involved  were  his  appeals. 
But  beyond  marrying  Rosie  and  keeping  his  word — being 
a  gentleman,  as  he  expressed  it — his  outlook  didn't 
extend.  "Any  damn  thing  that  liked  could  happen" 
when  that  atoning  act  had  been  accomplished. 

There  were  so  many  repetitions  in  his  turns  of  thought 
that  Lois  ended  by  following  them  no  more  than  listlessly. 
Not  that  she  had  ceased  to  be  interested,  but  her  mind  was 
occupied  with  other  phases  of  the  drama.  She  remem- 
bered, what  she  had  so  often  heard,  that  in  the  Master- 
mans  there  was  this  extraordinary  strain  of  idealism  of 
which  no  one  could  foresee  the  turn  it  would  take.  She 
knew  the  traditions  of  the  great-grandfather  whose  heart 
had  broken  on  finding  that  America  was  not  the  regen- 
erated land  he  hoped  for.  Tales  were  still  current  in  the 
village  of  old  Dr.  Masterman,  his  son,  who  through  sheer 
confidence  in  his  fellow-men  never  paid  any  one  he  owed 
and  never  collected  money  from  any  one  who  owed  it  to 
him.  Archie  Masterman,  in  the  next  generation,  was 
supposed  to  have  taken  the  altruistic  tendency  by  the 
throat  in  himself  and  choked  it  down;  but  Uncle  Sim 
was  a  byword  of  eccentric  goodness  throughout  the 
countryside.  Now  the  impulse  was  manifest  in  Claude, 
in  this  revulsion  against  his  own  failure,  in  this  marred 
and  broken  vision  of  a  Something  to  which  he  had  not 
been  true.     And  as  for  Thor  .  .  . 

310 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

But  here  she  was  tortured  and  frightened.  Who  knew 
what  this  strange  inheritance  might  be  working  in  him? 
Who  could  tell  how  big  and  tender  and  transcending  it 
might  become?  That  it  would  be  transcending  and  tender 
and  big  was  certain.  If  poor,  frivolous,  futile  Claude 
could  feel  like  this,  could  feel  that  he  must  redeem  his  soul 
though  "any  damn  thing  that  liked"  should  happen  as  the 
price  of  his  redemption,  in  Thor  the  yearning  would 
outflank  her  range.  Might  not  the  secret  of  secrets  be  in 
that?  Might  not  that  which  she  had  been  seeing  as 
treachery  to  herself  be  no  more  than  a  conflict  of  aspira- 
tions? If  Claude,  with  his  blurred  distortion  of  the  di- 
vine in  him,  served  no  other  purpose,  he  at  least  threw  a 
light  on  Thor.  Thor,  too,  was  a  Masterman.  Thor,  too, 
was  born  to  the  vision — to  the  longing  after  the  nationally 
perfect  that  had  become  legendary  since  the  time  of  the 
great-grandfather — to  the  sweet,  neighborly  affection  that 
ran  through  all  the  tales  of  that  man's  son — to  the  sturdy 
righteousness  of  Uncle  Sim — to  the  standards  of  honor 
from  which  poor  Claude  had  fallen  as  angels  fall — and  to 
God  only  knew  what  high  promptings  strangled  and 
vitiated  in  his  father.  Thor  was  heir  to  it  all,  with 
something  of  his  own  to  boot,  something  strong,  something 
patient,  something  laborious  and  loyal,  something  long- 
suffering  and  winning  and  meek,  that  might  have  marked 
the  leader  of  a  rebellious  people  or  a  pagan,  skeptic  Christ. 

Her  mind  was  so  full  of  this  ideal  of  the  man  against 
whom — and  also  for  whom — her  heart  was  hot  that  she 
made  no  effort  to  detain  Claude  when,  after  long  silence, 
he  picked  up  his  hat  and  slipped  away  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

HE  slipped  away  into  the  darkness,  but  only  to  do 
what  he  had  done  on  the  previous  evening  after 
making  arrangements  with  old  Maggs.  He  climbed  the 
hill  north  of  the  pond,  not  so  much  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
Rosie  or  any  one  else,  as  to  haunt  the  scenes  so  closely 
associated  with  his  spiritual  downfall. 

It  was  a  languorous,  luscious  night,  with  the  scent  of 
new-mown  hay  mingling  with  that  of  gardens.  If  there 
was  any  breeze  it  was  lightly  from  the  east,  bringing 
that  mitigation  of  the  heat  traditional  to  the  week  fol- 
lowing Independence  Day.  As  there  was  no  moon,  the 
stars  had  their  full  midsummer  intensity,  the  Scorpion 
trailing  hotly  on  the  southern  horizon,  with  Antares 
throwing  out  a  fire  like  the  red  rays  in  a  diamond.  Be- 
neath it  the  city  flung  up  a  yellow  glow  that  might  have 
been  the  smoke  of  a  distant  conflagration,  while  from  the 
hilltop  the  suburbs  were  a-sparkle.  As,  standing  in  the 
road,  Claude  looked  through  the  open  gateway  down 
over  the  slope  of  land,  the  hothouse  roofs  and  the  dis- 
tant levels  of  the  pond  gleamed  with  a  faint,  ghostly 
radiance  like  the  sheen  of  ancient  tarnished  crystal. 

The  house  was  dark.  It  was  dark  and  dead.  It  was 
dark  and  dead  and  haunted.  Everything  was  haunted; 
everything  was  dark.  Even  the  furnace  chimney  loom- 
ing straight  and  black  against  the  stars  was  plumeless. 
But  in  the  silence  and  stillness  there  was  something  that 
drew  him  on.  He  crossed  the  road  and  went  a  few  paces 
within  the  gate.  He  had  not  ventured  so  far  on  the 
previous  evening,  and  during  the  day  he  had  dared  no 

312 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

more  than  to  look  upward  from  the  boulevard  below,  after 
that  pilgrimage  to  Duck  Rock  on  which  William  Sweet- 
apple  had  surprised  him.  Now  in  the  darkness  and 
quietness  he  stood,  not  searching  so  much  as  dreaming. 
He  was  dreaming  of  Rosie,  dreaming  of  her  with  a  kind  of 
cheer.  After  all,  he  would  be  bringing  joy  to  her  as  well 
as  getting  peace  of  spirit  for  himself.  It  wouldn't  be  so 
hard.  She  would  meet  him  as  she  used  to  meet  him  here, 
as  she  used  to  let  him  come  and  visit  her,  and  then  the 
atonement  would  be  made.  The  process  would  be  simple, 
and  he  should  become  a  man  again. 

The  conviction  was  so  sweet  that  he  lingered  to  en  joy- 
it,  penetrating  a  few  steps  farther  into  the  spacious  dim- 
ness of  the  yard.  It  was  the  first  minute  of  inward  ease 
he  had  known  since  he  had  turned  his  back  on  it.  Now 
that  he  was  once  more  on  the  spot,  the  Claude  who  was  a 
devil-of-a-fellow,  something  of  a  sport,  but  a  decent  chap 
all  the  same,  began  again  to  run  with  red  blood  where 
there  had  been  nothing  but  a  whining,  shriveling  apostate. 
It  was  like  rejuvenescence,  like  a  re-creation. 

Suddenly  something  moved.  It  moved  at  first  in  the 
shadow  of  the  house,  and  then  out  in  the  starlit  spaces. 
It  moved  stealthily  and  creepily  and  with  a  grotesque 
swiftness.  Its  action  seemed  irregular  and  uncertain, 
like  that  of  some  night-marauding  animal,  till  Claude  per- 
ceived that  it  was  stalking  him.  He  waited  long  enough 
to  get  a  view  that  was  almost  clear  of  a  crouching  attitude, 
the  crouching  attitude  of  a  beast  when  it  means  to  spring, 
whereupon  he  turned  and  fled. 

That  is,  he  turned  and  walked  away  swiftly.  He  would 
have  run  had  it  not  been  for  his  renascent  self-respect. 
He  couldn't  bring  himself  to  run  from  poor  old  Fay  even 
though  his  nerves  were  tingling.  He  tried  to  reassure 
himself  by  saying  that  it  was  no  more  than  a  repetition 
of  that  dogging  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  before, 
and  that  it  would  discontinue  once  he  was  off  the  premises. 

But  when  he  turned  to  glance  over  his  shoulder  it  seemed 
21  313 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

to  him  that  the  sinister  footsteps  glided  after  him.  That, 
he  reasoned,  might  have  been  no  more  than  fancy.  The 
arc-lights  were  rare  on  this  rather  lonely  road,  and  the 
enormous  shadows  they  flung  lent  themselves  to  the 
startling  of  sick  imaginations.  Nevertheless,  as  he  walked 
Claude  continued  to  look  back  over  his  shoulder,  always 
with  renewed  impressions  of  a  creepy  thing  trying  to 
track  him  down.  Having  entered  the  obscurity  of  their 
own  driveway,  he  broke  at  last  into  a  light,  soundless  trot 
which  was  not  slackened  till  he  reached  the  relative  pro- 
tection of  the  door. 

But  by  morning  he  had  regained  a  measure  of  tran- 
quillity. Knowing  what  he  had  to  do,  he  was  resolved  to 
do  it  promptly.  With  sunlight  and  summer  and  the 
sense  of  being  home  again  to  brace  him  up,  the  Claude  who 
was  a  devil-of-a-fellow  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  be  reborn. 
Waiting  after  breakfast  only  long  enough  to  be  discreet, 
he  took  his  way  up  the  hill  again. 

He  was  confident  by  this  time,  and  the  more  so  because 
of  his  being  beyond  the  need  of  concealments.  There 
would  be  no  more  shrinking  into  the  odorous  depths  of  the 
hothouse,  or  hesitancies,  or  equivocations.  He  would 
walk  up  and  avow  himself — to  father  and  mother  as  well 
as  to  Rosie.  The  hero  in  him  was  coming  to  his  own  at 
last. 

The  gash  in  the  hothouse  roof  which  he  could  see  from 
a  distance  was  what  he  noticed  first.  In  his  two  nocturnal 
visits  this  had  not  been  apparent.  Now  that  he  saw  it 
he  stood  stock-still.  It  was  something  like  a  gash  within  i 
himself,  a  gash  in  his  courage  perhaps,  or  a  gash  in  the 
dream  of  a  reconstituted  self.  He  knew  vaguely  that  his 
father  had  refused  the  renewal  of  the  lease  and  that  at 
some  time  in  the  near  future  Fay  would  have  to  go; 
but  he  had  not  expected  the  immediate  signs  of  complete 
demoralization.  Now  that  they  were  there  they  dis- 
concerted him. 

3i4 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

He  went  on  till  he  was  in  view  of  the  house.  It  gave 
him  the  blind  stare  with  which  empty  houses  respond  to 
interrogation.  He  continued  his  way  to  the  gate  and 
into  the  yard.  All  was  neglected  and  fantastically  over- 
grown. Vetch,  burdock,  and  yarrow  were  in  luxuriant 
riot  with  the  planting  and  seeding  of  the  spring.  No 
living  creature  was  in  sight  but  a  dappled  mare,  whose 
round  body  and  heavy  fetlocks  spoke  of  a  Canuck  strain, 
hitched  in  the  shade  of  the  magnolia-tree. 

The  mare  wore  a  straw  hat  to  which  was  attached  a 
bunch  of  artificial  roses,  and  switched  her  tail  to  drive  away 
the  flies.  Harnessed  to  a  light  form  of  dray,  the  animal 
suggested  business,  so  that  Claude  put  on  a  business  air, 
going  forward  with  the  assurance  of  one  who  has  a  right 
to  be  on  the  spot.  He  had  not  advanced  twenty  paces 
before  the  hothouse  door  opened  to  allow  the  passage  of  a 
fern-tree  in  a  giant  wooden  pot,  behind  which  came  the 
pleasant  countenance  of  Jim  Breen,  red  and  perspiring 
from  so  much  exertion  under  a  July  sun.  Claude  paused 
till  the  fern-tree  was  deposited  in  the  dray,  when  the  two 
men  stared  at  each  other  across  the  intervening  space. 

For  the  first  time  Lois's  mention  of  the  young  Irish- 
man's name  returned  to  Claude  as  significant.  What  the 
young  Irishman  thought  of  him  he  had  no  means  of 
knowing,  for  a  sudden  eclipse  across  the  cheery  face  was 
followed  by  an  equally  sudden  clearing. 

"Hello,  Claude!" 

Jim  threw  off  the  greeting  guardedly,  and  yet  with  a 
certain  challenge.  His  very  use  of  the  Christian  name 
was  meant  to  be  a  token  of  man-to-man  equality.  Having 
attended  the  public  school  with  Claude,  and  taken  part 
with  him  in  ball-games  at  an  age  too  early  for  class  dis- 
tinctions, he  was  plainly  disposed  to  use  that  fact  as  a 
basis  of  privilege.  He  attempted,  however,  no  other 
advance,  remaining  sturdily  at  the  tail  of  his  dray,  hatless 
and  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  but  with  head  erect  and  gray  eyes 
set  fixedly.     The  only  conciliating  feature  was  his  smile, 

3i5 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

which  had  come  back,  not  with  its  native  spontaneity,  but 
daringly  and  aggressively,  as  a  brave  man  smiles  at  a  foe. 

Claude  resented  the  attitude ;  he  resented  the  smile;  he 
resented  the  use  of  his  Christian  name;  but  he  was  re- 
solved to  be  diplomatic.  He  went  forward  a  few  steps 
farther  still,  but  in  spite  of  himself  his  voice  trembled 
when  he  spoke.     "Mr.  Fay  'round?" 

Jim  answered  nonchalantly.  ' '  No ;  gone  to  town.  Want 
a  good  fern-tree,  Claude?  Two  or  three  corkers  here. 
Look  at  that  one,  now.  Get  it  cheap,  too.  Dandy  in  the 
corner  of  a  big  room." 

Sickeningly  aware  of  his  feebleness  in  contrast  with  this 
easy,  honest  vigor,  Claude  made  an  effort  to  be  manly 
and  matter-of-fact.     "  Mr.  Fay  selling  off?" 

"Not  exactly  selling  off.  Fixed  things  up  with  father. 
Father's  taken  the  stock,  and  Mr.  Fay's  going  in  with 
him.  Didn't  want  this  old  place  any  longer,"  Jim  con- 
tinued, loftily.  "Kind  o'  clung  to  it  because  he'd  put 
money  into  it,  like.  Money-eater;  that's  what  it  was. 
Make  more  in  a  year  with  father  than  he  would  in  this 
old  rockery  in  ten.  Hadley  B.  Hobson's  bought  the  place. 
Know  that,  don't  you?  Come  to  think  of  it,  it  was  your 
old  man  who  owned  it.  Well,  it's  Hadley  B.  Hobson's 
now — or  will  be  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Have  a  swell 
residence  here.  Good  enough  for  that,  but  too  small  for  a 
plant  like  Mr.  Fay's." 

Claude  did  his  best  to  digest  such  details  in  this  informa- 
tion as  were  new  to  him  while  he  nerved  himself  to  say, 
"Is  Miss  Fay  a-about?" 

Jim  nodded  toward  the  blank  windows  of  the  house. 
"Moved.  Better  take  a  fern-tree,  Claude.  Won't  get  a 
bargain  like  this,  not  if  every  florist  in  the  town  goes 
bankrupt.  This  one's  a  peach,  and  yet  you'll  call  it  a 
scream  compared  to  the  one  I've  got  inside.  Bring  it  out 
so  as  you  can  get  a  squint  at  it.  Can't  wait,  can't  you? 
Well,  so  long!  Got  to  finish  my  job.  Back,  Maud,  back! 
Any  time  you  do  want  a  fern-tree,  Claude — " 

316 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

Claude  was  obliged  to  speak  peremptorily  in  order  to 
detain  him.  "I  want  to  know  where  the  Fays  have 
moved  to." 

"To  town,"  was  the  ready  answer.  "Well,  so  long! 
If  I  don't  get  on  with  my  job—" 

"What  part  of  town?" 

Jim  turned  at  the  hothouse  door.  "Oh,  a  very  nice 
part." 

"But  that's  not  telling  me." 

"No,"  the  young  Irishman  threw  back,  with  his 
peculiar  smile,  "and  if  you  take  my  advice  you  won't  ask 
anybody  else.  If  old  man  Fay  was  to  see  you  within  a 
mile  of  the  place — " 

Claude  decided  to  be  confidential.  "Old  man  Fay  has 
no  reason  to  be  afraid  any  longer,  Jim — not  as  far  as  I'm 
concerned." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  as  far  as  you're  concerned;  it's  as  far  as  he 
is.     The  boot's  on  that  foot  now." 

Claude  loathed  this  discussion  with  a  man  so  inferior 
to  himself,  but  he  was  obliged  to  get  his  information  some- 
how.    "  If  he  thinks— " 

"It's  not  what  he  thinks,  but  what  he  knows.  That's 
what's  the  matter  with  old  man  Fay.  If  I  was  you  I'd 
give  him  a  darned  wide  berth — from  now  on." 

"Yes,  but  Jim,  you  don't  understand — " 

"I  understand  what  I'm  telling  you,  Claude.  If  you 
don't  clear  out  of  this  village  for  the  next  six  months — " 

Claude  was  beside  himself  with  exasperation.  "But, 
good  God,  man,  I've  come  back  to  marry  Rosie!  Now 
don't  you  see?" 

Jim  stalked  forward  from  the  hothouse  door,  standing 
over  the  smaller,  slighter  man  with  a  tolerant  kindliness 
which  persisted  in  his  sunny,  steely  smile.  "No,  I  don't 
see.  You  clear  out.  Take  a  friend's  advice.  Whether 
you've  come  back  to  marry  Rosie  or  whether  you  haven't 
won't  make  a  cent's  worth  of  difference  to  old  man  Fay, 
Clear  out,  all  the  same." 

3i7 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

In  his  excitement  Claude  screamed,  shrilly,  "Like 
hell,  I  will!" 

"Like  hell,  you'll  have  to.  Mind  you,  Claude,  I'm 
telling  you  as  a  friend.  And  as  for  marrying  Rosie — 
well,  you  can't." 

Claude  became  aggressive.  "If  that's  because  you 
think  you  can — " 

"  Gee !  Me !  What  do  you  know  about  that !  It's  all  I 
can  do  to  get  her  to  look  at  the  same  side  of  the  road  I'm 
on — so  far.  But  if  I  can't,  still  less  can  you,  and  for  a 
very  good  reason." 

"What  reason?"  Claude  demanded,  with  his  best  at- 
tempt to  be  stern. 

The  other  became  solemn  and  dramatic.  "The  reason 
that — that  she's  dead." 

Claude  jumped.  "Dead!  What  in  thunder  are  you 
talking  about?    She  wasn't  dead  this  afternoon." 

"Oh  yes,  she  was,  Claude — that  Rosie.  She — she 
drowned  herself.  When  I  dived  in  after  her  it  was 
another  Rosie  altogether  that  I  brought  up.  Do  you  get 
me?" 

Claude  broke  in  with  smothered  objurgations,  but  Jim, 
feeling  the  value  of  the  vein  he  had  started,  persisted  in 
going  on  with  it.  He  did  so  not  bitterly  or  reproachfully, 
but  with  a  playful,  Celtic  sadness  in  which  a  misty  blink- 
ing of  the  eyes  struggled  with  the  smile  that  continued  to 
hover  on  his  lips. 

"The  Rosie  you  knew,  Claude,  was  all  limp  and  white 
as  I  held  her  in  my  arms  while  Robbie  Willert  rowed  us 
ashore.  She  was  gone.  The  soul  was  out  of  her.  She 
was  as  much  in  heaven  as  if  she'd  been  dead  a  week.  Her 
eyes  were  shut  and  her  eyelashes  wet,  just  as  you  might 
see  the  fringe  of  a  flower  hung  with  dewdrops  of  a  morn- 
ing. And  her  mouth!  You  know  the  kind  of  mouth 
she's  got — a  little  open  when  she  looks  at  you,  as  if  you'd 
taken  her  by  surprise,  like.  Well,  that's  the  way  it  was 
then — a  wee  little  bit  open — as  if  she  was  going  to  speak — 

3i8 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

but  more  as  if  she  was  going  to  cry — and  her  lips  that 
white! — and  not  a  beat  to  her  heart  no  matter  how  tight 
you  held  her!  When  Dr.  Hill  brought  the  breath  into 
her  again  it  was  a  different  Rosie  that  came  back  entirely." 

Claude  wheeled  away  in  order  to  hide  the  spasm  that 
shot  across  his  face.  "Ah,  shut  up,  damn  you !"  was  all  he 
had  the  strength  to  say,  but  the  tone  moved  Jim  to 
compunction. 

The  Irishman  in  him  came  out  as  he  tried  to  make 
things  easier  for  Claude,  without  at  the  same  time  de- 
sisting from  his  object.  "Sure  you  couldn't  tell  that  that 
was  the  way  she'd  take  it.  You  couldn't  tell  that  at  all 
at  all.  If  you'd  known  it  beforehand  you'd  have  acted 
quite  different.  We  all  know  that.  Any  one  else  might 
have  done  the  same  thing  that  was — that  was  " — he  sought 
a  consolatory  phrase — "that  was  like  you."  He  plunged 
still  further.  "I  might  have  done  it  myself  if  I  hadn't — 
hadn't  been  built  the  other  way  'round.  Only  that  won't 
matter  to  old  man  Fay — nor  to  Matt,  neither." 

Claude  turned  so  suddenly  pale  at  the  mention  of  the 
brother  that  Jim  followed  up  his  advantage.  "The  old 
fellow  has  to  be  out  of  this  by  to-morrow  night,  and  Matt 
gets  his  walking-ticket  from  Colcord  the  next  morning." 
He  laid  his  strong,  earthy  hand  on  the  neat  summer  black- 
and-white  check  of  Claude's  shoulder  with  the  lightest 
hint  of  turning  him  in  the  direction  of  the  gate.  "Now 
if  you'll  make  yourself  scarce  for  a  spell  I'll  be  able  to 
manage  them  both  and  coax  them  back  to  their  senses." 

Though  he  felt  himself  irresistibly  impelled  toward  the 
road,  Claude  made  an  effort  to  recover  his  dignity.  "If 
you  think  I'm  going  to  run  away — " 

Jim  slipped  his  arm  through  his  companion's,  helping 
him  along.  "Sure  you're  not  going  to  run  away.  Lay 
low  for  a  spell,  that's  all  you'll  be  doing.  Old  man  Fay 
is  crazy — stark,  staring,  roaring  crazy.  It  isn't  you,  and 
it  isn't  Rosie;  it's  having  to  get  out  of  here.  It  was  bluff 
what  I  said  a  minute  ago  about  the  place  being  too  small 

3i9 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

for  his  plant.  He's  dotty  on  these  three  old  hothouses. 
My  Lord !  you'd  think  no  one  ever  had  hothouses  before 
and  never  would  again.  You'd  think  it  was  the  end  of 
the  world,  to  hear  him  talk.  You'd  die  laughing.  The 
fellow  he'd  like  to  put  it  over  on  is  your  old  man !  Gives 
me  a  mouthful  about  him  three  or  four  times  a  day — and 
it  'd  be  a  barr'l  full  of  buckshot  in  the  back  if  he  could  get 
at  him.  Lucky  he's  in  Europe.  But  I'll  calm  him  down, 
don't  you  fret ;  and  I'll  calm  down  Matt,  once  I  get  at  him. 
Let  me  have  two  months — let  me  have  a  month! — and 
I'll  have  'em  coming  to  you  like  a  gray  squirrel  comes  for 
nuts." 

Out  in  the  roadway  Claude  made  a  last  effort  to  react 
against  his  humiliation,  doing  it  almost  tearfully.  "But, 
look  here,  Jim,  I've  got  to  marry  Rosie — I've  got  to." 

The  Irishman  in  the  young  man  was  still  in  the  as- 
cendant as  he  wagged  his  head  sympathetically.  "Sure 
you've  got  to — if  she  wants  it." 

"Well,  she  does  want  it,  doesn't  she?  She  must  have 
told  you  so,  or  you  wouldn't  know  so  much  about  it." 

"She's  told  me  all  about  it  from  seeding  to  sale,  and 
it's  God's  truth  I'm  handing  out  to  you — no  bluff  at  all. 
This  Rosie's  another  proposition." 

"I'll  marry  her,  whatever  she  is,"  Claude  declared, 
bravely;    "and  I've  got  to  see  her,  too." 

Jim  looked  thoughtful.  "It  isn't  so  easy  to  see  her 
because —  Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you  straight,  Claude — 
because  it  makes  her  kind  o'  sick  to  think  of  you.  Oh, 
that's  nothing!"  he  hastened  to  add,  on  seeing  a  second 
convulsion  pass  across  Claude's  face.  "Sure  she'd  feel 
the  same  about  any  one  who'd  done  the  like  o'  that  to  her, 
now  wouldn't  she?  It  isn't  you  at  all — not  any  more  than 
it  'd  be  me  or  anybody  else." 

"If  I  could  see  her,"  Claude  said,  weakly,  "I'd— I'd 
explain." 

"Ah,  but  you  couldn't  explain  quick  enough.  That's 
where  the  trouble  about  that  'd  be.     She'd  be  down  on 

320 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

the  floor  in  a  faint  before  you'd  be  able  to  say  knife. 
You  couldn't  get  near  her  at  all  at  all — not  this  Rosie — 
not  if  it  was  to  explain  away  the  ground  beneath  her  feet." 

"She'd  get  over  that — "  Claude  began  to  plead. 

"She'd  get  over  it  if  it  didn't  kill  her  first;  but  it's  my 
belief  it  would.  If  you  could  have  seen  her  the  night  she 
told  me  about  you !  It  was  like  cutting  out  her  own  heart 
and  picking  it  to  pieces.  She's  never  mentioned  you  before 
nor  since — and  I  don't  think  ever  will  again.  No,  Claude, ' ' 
he  continued,  in  a  reasoning  tone,  "there's  no  two  ways 
about  it,  but  you've  got  to  get  out — for  a  spell,  at  any 
rate.  If  you  don't,  old  man  Fay  '11  be  after  you  with  a 
gun,  and  what  Matt  Fay  '11  do  may  be  worse.  I  can 
handle  them  if  you'll  keep  from  hanging  yourself  out 
like  a  red  rag  to  a  bull,  like;  but  if  you  don't — then  the 
Lord  only  knows  what  '11  happen." 

"What  '11  happen,"  Claude  cried,  with  a  final  up- 
leaping  of  resistance,  "is  that  you'll  marry  Rosie." 

"I'll  marry  her  if  she'll  have  me.  Don't  you  fret  about 
that.  But  I  won't  try  to  marry  her — not  if  I  see  that  she's 
got  the  least  little  bit  of  a  wish  to  marry  you,  Claude. 
I'll  play  fair.  If  she  changes  her  mind  from  the  way  she  is 
now,  and  gets  so  as  to  be  able  to  think  of  you  again,  and 
wants  you — wants  you  of  her  own  free  will — then  I'll  put 
up  the  banns  for  you  myself — and  that's  honest  to  God." 

He  offered  his  hand  on  the  compact,  but  Claude  didn't 
take  it.  He  didn't  take  it  because  he  didn't  see  it,  and  he 
didn't  see  it  because  he  looked  over  it  and  beyond  it,  as 
over  and  beyond  the  young  Irishman  himself.  It  was  not 
that  he  had  any  doubt  as  to  Jim's  word  being  honest  to 
God,  or  that  he  questioned  Rosie's  state  of  mind  as  Jim 
had  sketched  it.  It  was  rather  that  he  was  seeing  the 
Claude  who  was  a  gentleman  and  a  hero  and  a  devil-of-a- 
fellow  recede  into  the  ether,  while  he  was  left  eternally 
with  the  Claude  who  remained  behind. 

Jim  felt  no  resentment  for  the  neglect  of  his  proffered 
hand,  but  the  long  stare  of  those  sick,  unseeing  eyes  made 

321 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

him  uneasy.  "Well,  I  guess  I  must  beat  it  back  to  my 
job,"  he  said,  beginning  to  move  away.  "So  long,  Claude, 
and  good  luck  to  you !"  He  added,  in  order  to  return  to  a 
colloquial  tone,  "If  you  ever  want  a  fern-tree,  don't  forget 
that  we've  got  some  daisies." 

But  Claude  was  still  staring  at  the  great  blue  blank 
which  the  fading  of  his  ideal  had  left  behind  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

TWENTY-FOUR  hours  after  Claude  turned  to  take 
the  way  of  humiliation  down  the  hill,  undeceived 
by  Jim  Breen's  friendly  tone  and  the  hope  of  future 
possibilities  held  out  to  him,  Thor  Masterman  found 
himself  almost  within  sight  of  home.  On  arriving  in  the 
city  late  in  the  afternoon  he  went  to  a  hotel,  where  he  took 
a  room  and  dined.  When  he  had  devised  the  means  of 
letting  Lois  know  that  he  was  camping  outside  her  gates 
she  might  be  sufficiently  touched  to  throw  them  open. 
She  might  never  love  him  again;  she  might  never  have 
really  loved  him  at  all;  but  he  would  content  himself 
with  a  benevolent  toleration.  Like  her,  he  was  afraid 
of  love.  The  word  meant  too  much  or  too  little,  he  was 
not  sure  which.  It  was  too  explosive.  Its  dynamic 
force  was  at  too  high  a  pressure  for  the  calm  routine  of 
married  life.  If  Lois  could  find  a  substitute  for  love,  he 
was  willing  to  accept  it,  giving  her  his  own  substitute  in 
return.  All  he  asked  was  the  privilege  of  seeing  her,  of 
being  with  her,  of  proving  his  devotion,  of  having  her 
once  more  to  share  his  life. 

It  was  not  to  force  this  issue,  but  to  play  lovingly  with 
the  hope  in  it,  that  when  dusk  had  deepened  into  evening 
he  took  the  open  electric  car  that  would  carry  him  to  the 
village.  He  had  no  intention  beyond  that  of  enjoying  the 
cool  night  air  and  loitering  for  a  few  minutes  in  sight  of 
the  house  that  sheltered  her.  She  might  be  on  the 
balcony  outside  her  room,  or  beneath  the  portico  of  the 
garden  door,  so  that  he  should  catch  the  flutter  of  her 
dress.    That  would  be  enough  for  him — to-night.     He 

323 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

might  make  it  enough  for  the  next  night  and  the  next. 
After  absence  and  distance,  it  seemed  much. 

County  Street  was  as  he  had  known  it  on  every  warm 
summer  night  since  he  was  a  boy,  and  yet  conveyed  that 
impression  which  every  summer  night  conveys,  of  being  the 
first  and  only  one  of  its  kind.  The  sky  was  majestically 
high  and  clear  and  spangled,  with  the  Scorpion  and  the 
red  light  of  Antares  well  above  the  city's  amber  glow. 
Along  the  streets  and  lanes  dim  trees  rustled  faintly, 
casting  gigantic  trembling  shadows  in  the  circles  of  the 
electric  lights.  The  breeze  being  from  the  east  and  south, 
the  tang  of  sea-salt  mingled  with  the  strong,  dry  scent  of 
new-mown  hay  and  the  blended  perfumes  of  a  countryside 
of  gardens.  AH  doors  were  open  as  he  passed  along,  and 
so  were  all  windows.  On  all  verandas  and  porches  and 
steps  faint  figures  could  be  discerned,  low-voiced  for  the 
most  part,  but  sending  out  an  occasional  laugh  or  snatch 
of  song.  Thor  knew  who  the  people  were;  many  of  them 
were  friends;  to  some  of  them  he  was  related;  there  were 
few  with  whom  he  hadn't  ties  antedating  birth.  It  was 
soothing  to  him,  as  he  slipped  along  in  the  heavy  shadow  of 
the  elms,  to  know  that  they  were  near. 

On  approaching  his  father's  house,  which  he  expected 
to  find  dark,  he  was  astonished  to  see  a  light.  It  was  a 
light  like  a  blurred  star,  on  one  of  the  upper  floors.  From 
what  window  it  shone  he  found  it  difficult  to  say,  the  mass 
of  the  house  being  lost  in  the  general  obscurity.  The 
strange  thing  was  that  it  should  be  there. 

He  passed  slowly  within  the  gate  and  along  the  few 
yards  of  the  driveway,  pausing  from  time  to  time  in  order 
to  place  the  quiet  beacon  in  this  room  or  in  that,  accord- 
ing to  the  angle  from  which  it  seemed  to  burn.  He  was 
not  alarmed ;  he  was  only  curious.  It  was  no  furtive  light. 
Though  the  curtains  were  closed,  it  displayed  itself 
boldly  in  the  eyes  of  the  neighbors  and  of  the  two  or  three 
ornamental  constables  who  made  their  infrequent  rounds 

324 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

in  County  Street.  He  could  only  attribute  it  to  old 
Maggs,  who  lived  in  the  coachman's  cottage  at  the  far 
end  of  the  property,  though  as  to  what  old  Maggs  could 
be  doing  in  the  house  at  this  hour  in  the  evening,  at  a 
time  when  the  parents  were  abroad  and  Claude  away  on  a 
holiday,  he  was  obliged  to  be  frankly  inquisitive.  An 
investigating  spirit  was  further  aroused  by  the  fact  that 
in  one  of  his  pauses,  as  he  alternately  advanced  and 
halted,  he  was  sure  he  heard  a  footstep.  If  it  was  not  a 
footstep,  it  was  a  stirring  in  the  shrubbery,  as  if  something 
had  either  moved  away  or  settled  into  hiding. 

He  was  still  unalarmed.  Night-crimes  were  rare  in  the 
village,  and  relatively  harmless  even  when  they  were  com- 
mitted. The  sound  he  had  heard  might  have  been  made 
by  some  roving  dog,  or  by  a  cat  or  a  startled  bird.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  light  he  would  scarcely  have  noticed  it. 
Taken  in  conjunction  with  the  light,  it  suggested  some 
one  who  had  been  watching  and  had  slunk  away;  but  even 
that  thought  was  slightly  melodramatic  in  so  well-ordered 
a  community.  He  went  on  till  he  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  at  a  point  where  he  could  no  longer  descry  the  glow 
in  the  upper  window,  but  could  perceive  through  the 
fanlight  over  the  inner  door  that,  though  the  lower  hall 
was  dark,  the  electrics  were  burning  somewhere  in  the 
interior  of  the  house. 

He  verified  this  on  mounting  the  steps  and  peering 
into  the  vestibule  through  the  strip  of  window  at  the 
sides  of  the  outer  door.  Turning  the  knob  tentatively, 
he  was  surprised  to  find  it  yield.  On  entering,  he  stood 
in  the  porch  and  listened,  but  no  sound  reached  him 
from  within.  Taking  his  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket, 
he  detached  his  latch-key  softly,  and  as  softly  inserted  it  in 
the  lock.  The  door  opened  noiselessly,  showing  a  light 
down  the  stairway  from  the  hall  above.  He  could  now 
hear  some  one  moving,  probably  on  the  topmost  floor, 
with  an  opening  and  shutting  of  doors  that  might  have 
been  those  of  closets,  followed  by  a  swishing  sound  like 

325 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

that  of  the  folding  or  packing  of  clothes.  He  entered  and 
closed  the  door  with  a  distinctly  audible  bang. 

Listening  again,  he  found  that  the  sounds  ceased  sus- 
piciously. Whoever  was  there  was  listening,  too.  It  was 
easy,  by  the  light  streaming  from  above,  to  find  the  button 
and  turn  on  the  electricity  in  the  lower  hall,  whereupon  the 
movement  up-stairs  began  again.  Some  one  came  out 
of  a  room  and  peered  downward.  He  himself  went  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  looking  up.  When  the  watcher  on  the 
third  floor  spoke  at  last  it  was  in  a  voice  he  didn't  in- 
stantly recognize.  He  would  have  taken  it  for  Claude's, 
only  that  it  was  so  frightened  and  shrill. 

"Who's  there?" 

"Who  are  you?"  Thor  demanded,  in  tones  that  rolled 
and  echoed  through  the  house. 

There  was  a  long,  hesitating  silence.  Straining  his  eyes 
upward,  Thor  could  dimly  make  out  a  white  face  leaning 
over  the  highest  banister.  When  the  question  came  at 
last  it  was  as  if  reluctantly  and  shrinkingly. 

"Is  that  you,  Thor?" 

Thor  retreated  from  the  stairs,  backing  away  to  the 
library,  of  which  the  door  was  the  nearest  open  one. 
He  distinctly  recorded  the  words  that  passed  through  his 
mind.  He  might  have  uttered  them  audibly,  so  indelible 
was  the  impression  with  which  they  cut  themselves  in. 

"By  God!   I've  got  him." 

Out  of  the  confused  suffering  of  two  months  earlier  he 
heard  himself  saying:  "I  swear  to  God  that  if  I  ever  see 
Claude  again  I'll  kill  him." 

He  hadn't  meant  on  that  occasion  deliberately  to  regis- 
ter a  great  oath;  the  oath  had  registered  itself.  It  was 
there  in  the  archives  of  his  mind,  signed  and  sealed  and 
waiting  for  the  moment  of  putting  it  into  execution.  He 
had  hardly  thought  of  it  since  then;  and  now  it  urged 
itself  for  fulfilment  like  a  vow.  It  was  a  vow  to  cover  not 
merely  one  offense,  but  many — all  the  long  years  of  name- 
less, unrecorded  irritations,  ignored  but  never  allayed, 

326 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

culminating  in  the  act  by  which  this  man  had  robbed 
him;  robbed  him  uselessly,  robbed  him  not  to  enjoy  the 
spoil,  but  to  fling  it  away. 

It  was  a  moment  of  seeing  red  similar  to  many  others 
in  his  life.  For  the  instant  he  could  more  easily  have 
killed  Claude  than  refrained  from  doing  it.  That  he 
should  so  refrain  was  a  matter  of  course.  Naturally! 
He  still  kept  a  hold  on  common  sense.  He  would  not 
only  refrain,  but  be  civil.  If  Claude  were  in  need  of  any- 
thing or  were  short  of  cash  he  would  probably  write  him 
a  check.  It  was  the  irony  of  this  kind  of  rage  that  it  was  so 
impotent.  It  was  impotent  and  absurd.  It  might  shake 
him  to  the  foundations  of  his  being,  but  it  would  come 
to  nothing  in  the  end.  It  both  relieved  and  embittered 
him  to  foresee  this  result. 

From  the  threshold  of  the  library  he  called  up  to  Claude, 
"Come  down!"  The  tone  was  imperious;  it  was  even 
threatening.  That  degree  of  menace  at  least  he  was 
unable  to  suppress. 

Claude's  steps  could  be  heard  on  the  stairs.  They  were 
slow  and  clanking  because  the  carpets  were  up  and  the 
house  full  of  echoes.  To  Thor's  fevered  imagination  it 
seemed  as  if  Claude  dragged  his  feet  like  a  man  wearing 
chains,  going  haltingly  and  clumsily  before  some  ominous 
tribunal.  The  sensation — it  was  more  that  than  any- 
thing else — caused  the  elder  brother  to  withdraw  into  the 
depths  of  the  library,  where  he  turned  on  a  light. 

The  room,  with  its  bare  floors,  its  shrouded  furniture, 
its  screened  book  cases,  its  blank  pictures  swaddled  in 
linen  bags,  its  long,  gaunt  shadows,  and  its  deadened  air, 
suggested  itself  horribly  and  ridiculously  as  a  fitting  scene 
for  a  crime.  He  might  kill  Claude  with  a  blow,  and  if  he 
turned  out  the  lights  and  shut  the  door  and  stole  back  to 
his  hotel  no  one  would  ever  suspect  him  as  the  murderer. 
The  idea  would  have  been  no  more  than  grotesque  had  it 
not  acquired  a  certain  terror  from  the  mingling  of  affection 
and  anger  and  pity  in  his  heart  at  the  sound  of  Claude's 

327 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

shrinking,  clanking  advance.  In  proportion  as  Claude 
seemed  to  be  afraid  of  him,  he  was  the  more  aware  that  he 
was  a  man  to  be  afraid  of.  The  consciousness  caused 
him  to  get  deeper  into  the  dimly  lighted  room,  taking  his 
stand  at  the  remotest  possible  spot,  with  his  back  to  the 
empty  fireplace. 

But  when  Claude  appeared  coatless  in  the  doorway,  his 
head  was  thrown  up  defiantly  in  apparent  effort  to  treat 
Thor's  entrance  as  unwarranted.  "What  the  devil  are 
you  doing  here?" 

Because  of  the  semi-obscurity  his  face  was  white  with  a 
whiteness  that  quickened  Thor's  sympathy  into  self- 
reproach. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"That's  my  business."  In  making  this  reply  Claude 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  they  met  on  terms  of 
hostility,  though  he  added,  less  aggressively:  "If  you 
want  to  know,  I'm  packing  up.  Taking  the  train  for 
New  York  at  one  o'clock  to-night." 

Thor  endeavored  to  speak  with  casual  fraternal  interest. 
"What  brought  you  back?" 

Claude  took  time  to  light  a  cigarette,  saying,  as  he 
blew  out  the  match,  "You." 

"Me?  I  thought  it  might  be— might  be  some  one 
else." 

' '  Then  you  thought  wrong. ' '  He  walked  to  a  metal  ash- 
tray which  helped  to  keep  the  covering  that  protected  one 
of  the  low  bookcases  in  its  place,  and  deposited  the 
burnt  match.  He  threw  off  with  seeming  carelessness  as 
he  did  so,  "I  know  only  one  traitor,  to  make  me  keep 
returning  on  my  tracks." 

Because  the  impulse  to  violence  was  so  terrific,  Thor 
braced  himself  against  it,  standing  with  his  feet  planted 
apart  and  his  hands  clenched  behind  him  till  the  nails 
dug  into  the  flesh.  He  could  not,  however,  restrain  a 
scornful  little  grunt  which  was  meant  for  laughter. 
"You   talk    of   traitors!    I'd   keep    quiet    about   them, 

*28 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

Claude,  if  I  were  you.     You  make  it  too  easy  for  an 
opponent." 

"Oh,  well,"  Claude  returned,  airily,  "I'm  used  to 
doing  that.  I  made  it  infernally  easy  for  an  opponent 
— last  winter.  But,  then,  sneaking's  always  easy  to  a 
snake,  till  you  get  your  heel  on  him." 

"And  snarling's  easy  to  a  puppy,  till  you've  throttled 
him." 

"And  bluster's  easy  to  a  fool,  till  you  let  him  see  you 
hold  him  in  contempt." 

"As  to  holding  in  contempt,  two  can  play  at  that  game, 
Claude;  and  you  might  find  the  competition  dangerous." 

Claude  came  nearer,  the  lighted  cigarette  between  his 
fingers.  "Not  on  your  life!  That's  one  thing  in  which 
I'm  not  afraid  to  bet  on  myself."  He  came  nearer  still, 
planting  himself  within  a  few  paces  of  his  brother.  His 
smile,  his  mirthless,  dead-man's  smile,  held  Thor's  eyes 
as  it  had  held  Lois's  a  day  or  two  before.  He  made  an 
effort  to  speak  jauntily.  "Why,  Thor,  a  volcano  can't 
belch  fire  as  fast  as  I  can  spit  contempt  on  you.  There! 
Take  that!" 

With  a  rapid  twist  of  the  hand  he  threw  the  lighted 
cigarette  into  Thor's  face,  where  it  struck  with  a  little 
smarting  burn  below  the  eye.  Thor  held  himself  in 
check  by  clenching  his  fists  more  tightly  and  standing 
with  bowed  head.  It  was  a  minute  or  more  before  he  was 
sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  loosen  the  grip  with  which 
his  fingers  dug  into  one  another,  and  put  up  his  hand  to 
brush  the  spot  of  ash  from  his  cheek.  Being  in  so  great 
fear  of  his  passions,  he  felt  the  necessity  for  speaking 
peaceably. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for,  Claude ?     It's  beastly  silly." 

"Oh  no,  it  isn't — not  the  way  I  mean  it." 

"But  why  should  you  mean  it  that  way?  What  have 
I  ever  done  to  you?" 

"Good  Lord!  what  haven't  you  done?  You've — 
you've  ruined  me." 

22  329 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

The  charge  was  so  unexpected  that  Thor  looked  more 
amazed  than  indignant.     "Ruined  you?" 

"Yes,  ruined  me.     What  else  did  you  set  out  to  do 
when  you  began  your  confounded  interference?" 
"I  didn't  mean  to  interfere — " 

Claude  might  have  posed  for  some  symbolical  figure 
of  accusation  as,  with  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets  and 
classic  profile  turned  in  a  three-quarter  light,  he  flung  his 
words  and  directed  his  glances  obliquely  and  disdainfully 
at  the  brother  who  glowered  with  bent  head.  "When 
you  don't  mean  to  go  into  a  thing  you  keep  out.  That 
was  your  place — out.  Do  you  get  that? — out.  But 
you're  never  satisfied  till  you've  made  as  vile  a  mess  of 
every  one  else's  affairs  as  you've  made  of  your  own." 

Feeling  some  justice  in  the  charge,  Thor  began  to 
excuse  himself.  "If  I've  made  a  mess  of  my  own,  Claude, 
it's  because — " 

"Because  you  can't  help  it.  Oh,  I  know  that.  No 
one  can  be  anything  but  a  damn  fool  if  he's  born  one. 
All  the  more  reason,  then,  why  you  should  keep  away 
from  where  you're  not  wanted." 

By  a  great  effort  Thor  managed  to  speak  meekly. 
"How  could  I  keep  away  when — ?" 

"When  you're  a  rubber-neck  bred  in  the  bone.  No,  I 
suppose  you  couldn't.  But  you  hate  a  spy  and  a  liar 
even  when  he  can't  be  anything  else;  and  the  worst  of 
it  is—" 

"Oh,  is  there  anything  worse  than  that?" 

"There's  this  that's  worse,  that  your  spying  and  your 
lying  weren't  bad  enough  till  you  got  me  into  a  fix  where 
I  have  to  look  like  a  cad,  when" — the  protest  in  his  soul 
against  the  r61e  he  was  compelled  to  play  expressed  itself 
in  a  little  gasp — "when  I'm — when  I'm  not  one." 

The  elder  brother  found  himself  unable  to  resist  the 
opportunity.  "If  you  look  like  a  cad,  I  suppose  it's 
because  you've  acted  like  a  cad.     It's  the  usual  reason." 

"Oh,  there's  cad  and  cad.     There's  a  fellow  who  gets 

33o 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

snarled  up  in  the  barbed  wire  because  he  runs  into  it,  and 
there's  another  who  deliberately  lays  the  trap  for  him. 
The  one  can  afford  to  crawl  away  with  a  grin  on  his  face, 
while  the  other  lies  scratched  and  bleeding." 

It  seemed  to  Thor  that  there  was  an  opening  here  for 
a  timorous  attempt  to  cry  quits.  "If  it  comes  to  the 
question  of  suffering,  Claude,  it  isn't  all  on  one  side. 
You  may  be  scratched  and  bleeding,  as  you  say,  and 
yet  you  can  get  over  it;  whereas  I'm  lamed  for  life." 

"Ah,  don't  come  the  hypocrite!  If  you're  lamed  for 
life,  as  I  hope  to  God  you  are,  it's  because  you've  got  a 
bullet  in  the  leg — which  is  what  any  one  hands  out  to  a 
poacher." 

The  relatively  gentle  tone  was  again  the  effect  of  a  sur- 
prise stimulated  to  curiosity.  "When  was  I  ever  a 
poacher?" 

"You  were  a  poacher  when  you  went  making  love  to  a 
woman  who  belonged  to  another  man,  while  you  belonged 
to  another  woman." 

"Very  well,"  Thor  said,  quietly,  after  a  minute's 
thinking.  "I  accept  the  explanation.  But  I  never  did 
it." 

"Then  you  did  something  so  infernally  like  it  that  to 
deny  it  is  mere  quibbling  with  words." 

"All  the  same,  I  insist  on  making  the  denial." 

Claude  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I'm  not  surprised  at 
that.  It's  exactly  what  your  type  of  cur  would  do.  Un- 
fortunately for  you,  I've  the  proof." 

"The  proof  of  what?" 

"Of  your  torturing  a  poor  girl  into  saying  she  was 
willing  to  marry  you — and  then  throwing  the  words  in  her 
teeth." 

It  was  from  the  flame  in  Thor's  eyes  that  Claude  leaped 
back  a  half-pace,  though  he  steadied  himself  against  a 
small  table  covered  up  from  the  accumulation  of  summer's 
dust  by  a  piece  of  common  calico.  Giving  himself  time 
enough  to  have  deliberately  counted  twenty,  Thor  sub- 

33i 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

dued  the  impulse  of  the  muscles  as  well  as  that  of  speech. 
"Who  told  you  that?"  he  asked,  at  last,  in  the  tone  he 
might  have  used  of  some  matter  of  no  importance. 

"Who  do  you  think?" 

"There's  only  one  person  who  could  have  told  you — " 

"Oh,  you  admit  as  much  as  that,  do  you?  There  is  a 
person  who  could  have  told  me?" 

"Yes,  I  admit  as  much  as  that — but  you  must  have 
misunderstood  her." 

Thor's  dignity  and  self-restraint  were  not  without  an 
effect  that  might  eventually  have  made  for  peace  had  not 
the  brother's  conscience  been  screaming  for  a  scapegoat 
on  which  to  lay  a  portion  of  his  sins.  For  him  alone  the 
entire  weight  had  become  intolerable.  Thor  had  been 
known  to  accept  such  vicarious  burdens  before  now.  In 
the  hope  that  he  would  do  so  again,  Claude  answered, 
tauntingly : 

"I  didn't  misunderstand  her  when  she  said  you  were 
making  me  a  cat's-paw  to  do  what  you  wouldn't  do  your- 
self. What  kind  of  stuff  are  you  made  of,  Thor?  You 
go  flaunting  your  money  before  a  poor  little  girl  who  you 
know  can't  resist  it,  and  then,  when  you  get  her  willing 
to  do  God  knows  what,  you  push  her  off  on  me  and  want 
to  pay  me  for  the  job  of  relieving  you  of  your  dirty  work. 
After  you've  dragged  her  in  the  dust  she's  still  considered 
good  enough  for  me — " 

"Stop!" 

The  roar  of  the  monosyllable  echoed  through  the  empty 
house,  while  Thor  strode  forward,  the  devil  in  him  loose. 
With  the  skill  of  a  toreador  in  throwing  his  cloak  into  the 
eyes  of  an  infuriated  bull,  Claude  snatched  the  calico  strip 
from  the  table  beside  which  he  stood  and  flung  it  in  Thor's 
face.  The  result  was  to  check  the  latter  in  his  advance, 
giving  Claude  time  to  dart  nimbly  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room.  As  Thor  stared  about  him,  dazed  by  his  rage,  he 
bore  out  still  further  the  resemblance  to  a  maddened 
animal  in  the  bull-ring.  , 

332 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

Fear  struggled  in  Claude's  heart  with  the  lust  for 
retaliation.  Like  Thor  himself,  he  knew  the  minute  to 
be  one  in  which  he  could  work  off  a  thousand  unpaid 
scores  that  had  been  heaping  themselves  up  since  child- 
hood. For  the  time  being  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  not 
only  make  the  scapegoat  bear  his  sins,  but  stab  him  to  the 
heart  while  he  did  it. 

"Stop?"  he  laughed,  shrilly.  "Like  hell,  I'll  stop. 
Did  you  stop  when  you  went  sneaking  after  Rosie  Fay 
till  you  got  her  in  a  state  where  she  wanted  to  kill  herself?" 
The  red  glare  in  Thor's  eyes  was  an  incentive  to  going  on. 
"Did  you  stop  when  you  tried  to  father  your  beastly 
actions  off  on  me,  and  juggle  me  into  marrying  the  girl 
you'd  had  enough  of?  Did  you  stop  when  you  fooled 
Lois  Willoughby  into  thinking  you  a  saint,  and  break- 
ing her  heart  when  she  found  you  out?  Look  at  her 
now — " 

With  a  smothered  oath  Thor  charged  as  a  wounded 
rhinoceros  might  charge — in  a  lunge  that  would  have 
borne  his  brother  down  by  sheer  force  of  weight  had  not 
Claude  eluded  him  lightly.  Once  more  Thor  shook  him- 
self, stupefied  by  his  passion,  blinded  by  the  blood  in  his 
eyes.  He  needed  an  instant  to  place  his  victim,  who,  with 
white  face  and  wild,  terrified  glances,  had  found  temporary 
shelter  behind  the  barricade  of  the  heavy  library  table. 

But  before  renewing  his  rush  Thor  marched  to  the  door 
that  led  to  the  hall,  the  only  door  to  the  room,  locking  it 
and  pocketing  the  key.  The  muttered,  "By  God,  I'll 
have  you  now!"  reached  Claude's  ears,  bringing  to  his 
lips  a  protest  which  had  not  burst  into  words  before  the 
huge  figure  charged  again.  Behind  his  fortification  Claude 
was  alert,  dancing  now  this  way  and  now  that,  as  Thor 
brought  his  strength  to  bear  on  the  table  to  wrench  it 
aside.  But  by  the  time  that  was  done  Claude  was  already 
elsewhere,  overturning  tables  and  chairs  in  his  flight. 

Behind  a  sofa  Claude  intrenched  himself  again,  a  small 
chair  raised  above  his  head  as  a  weapon  of  defense.     Thor 

333 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

sprang  on  the  sofa,  only  to  receive  the  weight  of  the  chair 
in  his  chest,  staggering  him  backward  while  Claude 
bounded  off  to  another  refuge.  Both  were  cursing  in- 
articulately; both  were  panting  in  broken  grunts  and 
sobs;  from  both  the  perspiration  in  that  airless  room  and 
in  the  heat  of  the  July  night  was  streaming  as  rain.  The 
pursuit  was  like  that  of  a  leopard  by  a  Hon — the  one  lithe, 
agile,  and  desperate;  the  other  heavy,  tremendous,  and 
sure. 

In  darting  from  point  to  point  Claude  found  himself 
near  a  window,  where  he  fumbled  with  the  fastening  in  the 
hope  of  throwing  up  the  sash,  though  wooden  shutters 
defended  the  outside.  Driven  from  this  attempt,  he 
made  for  the  locked  door,  pulling  at  it  vainly  on  the  chance 
that  it  would  yield.  Seeing  Thor  bearing  down  on  him 
with  redoubled  fury,  he  obeyed  the  impulse  of  the 
moment  and  switched  off  the  electricity  as  he  crept 
swiftly  along  the  wall.  In  the  darkness  he  stumbled  to  a 
corner,  where  his  labored  breathing  could  not  but  betray 
his  hiding-place.  While  he  crouched  in  the  corner,  making 
himself  small,  he  knew  Thor  was  stalking  him  by  the 
sound. 

He  was  stalking  him,  and  yet  in  the  inky  blackness  of 
the  room  accurate  hunting  down  was  difficult.  It  was 
like  a  duel  between  blind  men.  Thor  was  moving  un- 
certainly, pausing  from  second  to  second  to  fix  the  object 
of  his  search. 

In  the  mad  hope  of  reaching  the  fireplace  and  creeping 
into  the  chimney,  Claude  wriggled  from  his  corner  along 
the  floor,  keeping  close  to  the  wainscot.  As  he  did  so  he 
touched  the  legs  of  a  footstool  which  suggested  its  use  at 
once.  Controlling  the  thumping  of  his  heart  and  the 
pumping  of  his  lungs  as  best  he  could,  he  got  noiselessly 
to  his  feet.  Inch  by  inch,  slinging  the  footstool  by  a  leg, 
he  moved  toward  the  spot  from  which  Thor's  panting 
breath  seemed  to  proceed.  If  he  could  but  batter  in  that 
long  skull  he  would  be  acquitted  of  responsibility  on  the 

334 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

ground  of  self-defense.  But  he  was  afraid  of  anything 
that  approached  the  hand-to-hand.  When  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  could  vaguely  make  out  the  swaying  of  a 
figure  in  the  darkness,  he  hurled  the  missile  with  all  his 
might — only  to  hear  it  crash  into  one  of  the  covered 
pictures. 

Claude  was  disappointed,  and  yet  in  the  din  of  the 
shattering  glass  he  was  able  to  escape  again.  He  had  lost 
all  sense  of  direction.  Even  his  touch  on  the  furniture 
didn't  help  him,  since  everything  was  now  displaced. 
Nevertheless,  he  continued  to  duck  and  dodge,  to  wriggle 
and  creep  and  elude.  Once  Thor's  clutch  was  actually 
upon  him,  but  he  managed  to  tear  himself  free  with 
nothing  worse  than  a  long  rent  in  his  shirt-sleeve.  Again 
Thor  seized  him,  but  only  to  tear  his  collar  from  the  stud. 
A  third  time  Thor's  strong  fingers  were  closing  round  his 
throat,  and  yet  after  a  momentary  choking  groan  he  had 
been  able  to  slip  away.  Never  before  had  Claude  sup- 
posed himself  so  strong.  There  was  a  minute  when  he 
had  felt  Thor's  hot  breath  snorting  in  his  face,  and  still 
was  able  to  pick  up  a  small,  round  table  on  which  his 
mother  sometimes  placed  her  tea-tray,  sending  it  hurtling 
toward  his  pursuer,  checking  him  again.  With  a  splutter 
of  stifled  oaths,  Thor  grasped  the  piece  of  furniture, 
throwing  it  violently  back.  Claude  rejoiced  as  it  crashed 
into  a  window  and  loosened  the  shutters  outside.  If  he 
only  knew  which  of  the  windows  it  was,  there  might  be  a 
chance  of  his  getting  out  by  it. 

With  this  possibility  before  him  he  took  heart  again. 
The  sound  of  the  breaking  of  the  window  enabling  him  to 
fix  his  whereabouts,  he  began  feeling  his  way  toward  the 
unexpected  hope  of  exit.  It  became  the  more  urgent  to 
reach  it  as  he  guessed  by  the  fumbling  of  Thor's  hands 
along  the  wall  that  the  latter  was  trying  to  find  the  electric 
button  so  as  to  turn  on  the  light.  He  groped,  therefore, 
between  the  tables  and  overturned  chairs,  getting  as  far 
from  his  enemy  as  possible.     If  only  his  heart  wouldn't 

335 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

pound  as  though  about  to  burst  from  his  body!  If  only 
his  breath  wouldn't  wheeze  itself  out  with  the  gurgle  of 
water  through  a  bottle-neck!  He  couldn't  last  much 
longer.  He  was  so  nearly  spent  that  if  Thor  kept  up  the 
attack  he  must  wear  him  out.  In  the  end  he  must  let 
those  powerful  hands  close  round  his  throat,  as  he  had 
felt  them  close  a  few  minutes  before,  while  he  strangled 
without  further  resistance.  He  felt  oddly  convinced  that 
it  would  be  by  means  of  strangling  that  Thor's  quiet, 
awful  tenacity  of  revenge  would  wreak  itself. 

During  these  horrible  minutes  Thor  had  the  same  con- 
viction. All  the  force  of  his  excited  nerves  had  seemed 
to  be  centering  in  his  hands.  If  he  could  only  tear  out 
that  tongue  which  had  hardly  ever  addressed  him  except 
with  a  sneer  since  it  had  begun  to  lisp!  Now  that  the 
amazing  opportunity  was  at  hand,  he  wondered  how  he 
could  have  put  it  off  so  long.  That  he  should  do  the  thing 
he  was  bent  on  might  have  been  written  like  a  fate.  It 
was  like  something  he  had  always  known,  like  something 
toward  which  he  had  been  always  working.  The  tender- 
ness with  which  he  had  yearned  over  Claude  ever  since 
the  days  when  they  were  children  seemed  never  to 
have  had  any  other  end  in  view. 

So  he  stalked  his  prey  while  the  minutes  passed — five 
minutes — ten  minutes — perhaps  more,  perhaps  less — he 
had  lost  all  count  of  time.  So  he  stalked  him — through 
the  darkness,  round  and  round,  over  tables  and  chairs, 
into  corners  and  out  of  them.  The  room  was  sealed; 
the  house  was  empty;  the  grounds  were  large.  They 
might  have  been  in  some  subterranean  vault.  When  the 
right  moment  came  he  would  find  the  button  by  which 
to  turn  on  the  light,  and  then  .  .  . 

Revulsion  came  from  the  fact  that  he  had  accidentally 
put  his  hand  on  the  button  and  lit  up  the  spectacle  of  the 
room.  At  sight  of  it  he  could  have  laughed.  Nothing 
but  the  big  library  table  and  one  of  the  heavy  arm-chairs 

336 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

stood  on  its  legs.  One  of  the  windows  had  a  gash  like  a 
grin  on  its  prim  countenance,  and  one  of  the  pictures 
sagged  drunkenly  from  its  hook,  a  mere  bag  of  gilded  wood 
and  glass.  Cowering  in  a  corner,  Claude  was  again  arm- 
ing himself  with  a  chair.  It  was  not  his  weapon,  but  his 
whiteness,  that  stirred  Thor  to  a  pity  almost  hysterical. 
One  of  his  arms  was  bare  where  the  shirt-sleeve  had  been 
torn  from  it;  one  side  of  his  collar  sprang  loose  where  it 
had  been  wrested  from  the  stud;  his  lips  were  parted  in 
terror,  his  eyes  starting  from  his  head.  The  thing  Thor 
could  have  done  more  easily  than  anything  else  would 
have  been  to  fling  himself  down  and  weep. 

As  it  was,  he  could  only  hold  out  his  hands  with  a  kind 
of  shamed,  broken-hearted  appeal,  saying,  "Claude,  come 
here." 

Though  his  trembling  hands  dropped  the  raised  chair, 
Claude  shrank  more  desperately  into  his  corner.  When, 
to  reassure  him,  Thor  took  a  step  forward,  Claude  moved 
along  the  wall,  with  his  back  to  that  protection,  ready  to 
spring  and  dodge  again.  If  he  understood  Thor's  ad- 
vances, he  either  mistrusted  or  rejected  them. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  Thor  tried  to  say,  encouragingly,  but 
after  the  attacks  of  the  past  few  minutes  his  voice  sounded 
hollow  and  unconvincing  to  himself. 

In  proportion  as  he  went  nearer  Claude  sidled  away, 
always  keeping  his  back  to  the  wall,  with  gasps  that  were 
like  groans.  He  spoke  but  once.  "Open  that  door!" 
It  was  all  he  could  articulate,  but  it  implied  a  test  of  the 
brother's  sincerity. 

Thor  accepted  it,  striding  to  the  threshold,  turning  the 
key  energetically,  and  flinging  the  door  wide  open.  The 
quiet  light  burning  in  the  quiet  hall  produced  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  shock.  He  stepped  into  the  hall  to 
wipe  his  brow  and  curse  himself.  He  could  never  win 
his  own  pardon  for  the  madness  of  the  past  quarter  of 
an  hour.  Neither,  probably,  could  he  ever  win  Claude's, 
though  he  must  go  back  and  make  the  attempt. 

337 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

What  happened  as  he  turned  again  into  the  library 
he  could  never  clearly  explain,  for  the  reason  that  he  never 
clearly  knew.  The  minute  remained  in  his  consciousness 
as  one  unrelated  to  the  rest  of  life,  with  nothing  to  lead  up 
to  it  and  nothing  to  follow  after.  Even  the  savagery  of 
their  mutual  onslaught  had  been  no  adequate  preparation 
for  what  now  took  place  so  rapidly  that  the  mind  was 
unable  to  record  it.  As  he  re-entered  the  room  Claude 
was  standing  by  one  of  the  low  bookcases.  So  much 
remained  in  the  elder  brother's  memory  as  fact.  The 
vision  of  Claude  raising  his  arm  in  a  quick,  vicious  move- 
ment was  a  vision  and  no  more,  since  on  Thor's  part  it  was 
blurred  and  then  effaced  in  a  sharp,  sudden  pain  accom- 
panied by  a  blinding  light.  Of  his  own  act,  which  must 
have  followed  so  promptly  as  to  be  nearly  simultaneous, 
Thor  had  no  recollection  at  all.  By  the  time  he  was  able  to 
piece  ideas  together  Claude  was  senseless  on  the  floor,  while 
he  was  bending  over  him  with  blood  streaming  down  his  face. 

For  the  instant  the  brother  was  merged  in  the  physician. 
To  bring  Claude  back  to  life  after  the  blow  that  had 
stunned  and  felled  him  was  obviously  the  first  thing  to  be 
done.  Thor  worked  at  the  task  madly,  tearing  open  the 
shirt,  chafing  the  hands  and  the  brow,  feeling  the  pulse, 
listening  at  the  heart.  Whether  or  not  there  was  a 
response  there  he  couldn't  tell ;  his  own  emotion  was  too 
overpowering.  His  fingers  on  Claude's  wrist  shook  as 
with  a  palsy;  his  ear  at  Claude's  heart  was  deafened  by 
the  pounding  of  his  own.  Meanwhile  Claude  lay  limp  and 
still,  dead-white,  with  eyes  closed  and  mouth  a  little  open. 
Thor  had  seen  many  a  man  in  a  state  of  syncope,  but  never 
one  who  looked  so  much  like  death.  Was  he  dead? 
Could  he  be  dead?  Had  the  great  oath  been  fulfilled? 
He  worked  frantically.  Never  till  that  instant  had  he 
known  what  terror  was.  Never  had  he  beheld  so  clearly 
what  was  in  his  own  soul.  As  he  worked  he  seemed  to  be 
looking  in  a  mirror  from  which  the  passion-ridden  fratricide 
whom  he  had  always  recognized  dimly  within  himself  was 

338 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

staring  out.  The  physician  disappeared  again  in  the 
brother.  "O  God!  O  God!"  He  could  hear  himself 
breathing  the  words.  But  of  what  use  were  they?  As 
he  knelt  and  chafed  and  rubbed  and  listened  they  came  out 
because  he  couldn't  keep  them  back.  And  he  was  ac- 
complishing nothing!  Claude  was  as  still  and  limp  as 
ever.  Not  a  breath! — not  a  sign! — not  a  throb  at  the 
pulse! — and  the  minutes  going  by! 

He  dropped  the  poor  arm  that  fell  lifeless  to  the  side, 
and  threw  back  his  head  with  a  groan.  "  O  God — if  you're 
anywhere! — give  him  back  to  me!" 

The  broken  utterance  was  the  first  prayer  he  had  ever 
uttered  in  his  life,  but,  having  said  it,  he  went  on  with  his 
work  again.  He  went  on  with  new  vigor  and  perhaps  a 
little  hope.  He  fancied  he  saw  a  change.  It  was  not 
much  of  a  change — a  little  warmth,  a  little  color,  but  no 
more  than  might  have  been  created  by  a  fancy. 

He  ran  for  water  to  the  nearest  tap.  In  returning  to 
the  library  his  foot  struck  something  on  the  floor.  It  was 
the  metal  ash-tray  which  had  helped  to  keep  the  covering 
in  place  on  one  of  the  bookcases,  and  into  which  Claude 
had  thrown  a  match.  The  picture  of  a  few  minutes  earlier 
reformed  itself — Claude  standing  just  there,  with  the  ash- 
tray under  his  hand — the  rapid  motion  of  the  arm — the 
paralyzing  pain — the  dazzling  light — and  then  the  blow 
with  which  he  must  have  hurled  himself  on  Claude, 
striking  him  to  the  floor.  There  was  no  time  to  co- 
ordinate these  memories  now  or  to  attend  to  the  wound 
in  his  own  forehead.  The  explanation  came  of  its  own 
accord  as  he  touched  the  ash-tray  with  his  foot  while 
dashing  back  to  Claude's  side. 

The  change  continued.  There  were  positive  signs  of 
life.  The  mouth  had  closed;  there  was  the  faintest 
possible  quiver  of  the  lids.  When  he  threw  a  little  water 
into  Claude's  face  there  was  a  twitching  of  the  muscles 
and  a  slight  protesting  movement  of  the  hand. 

"Thank  God!" 

339 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

He  couldn't  note  the  involuntary  expression  of  his 
gratitude,  which  had  nevertheless  been  audible.  Claude 
had  need  of  air.  Taking  him  in  his  arms,  he  lifted  him 
like  a  baby  and  staggered  to  his  feet.  The  body  hung 
loosely  over  his  shoulder  as  he  crossed  the  room  and 
laid  it  on  the  sofa.  The  broken  window  served  its  purpose 
now,  for  a  little  air  was  coming  in  by  it  through  the  spot 
where  the  wooden  shutter  had  given  way.  Thor  suc- 
ceeded in  forcing  the  shutter  altogether,  letting  the  light 
summer  breeze  play  into  the  marble  face. 

If  he  only  had  a  little  brandy!  He  summed  up  hur- 
riedly the  possibilities  in  the  house,  coming  to  the  con- 
clusion that  nothing  of  the  sort  would  have  been  left 
within  reach.  Even  the  telephone  had  been  disconnected 
for  the  summer.  It  would  be,  however,  an  easy  thing 
to  run  to  his  office.  It  would  be  easier  still  to  run  to  his 
house,  which  was  nearer.  Claude  was  breathing  freely 
now.  He  could  be  safely  left  for  the  few  minutes  which 
was  all  he  needed  to  be  away.  With  a  simple  restorative 
the  boy  would  soon  be  on  his  feet  again. 

He  pushed  the  sofa  closer  to  the  open  window,  kneeling 
once  more  beside  it.  Yes,  the  danger  was  past.  "Thank 
God!  Thank  God!"  The  words  were  audible  again.  It 
was  deliverance.  It  was  salvation.  There  was  a  positive 
tinge  of  color  in  the  cheeks;  the  eyes  opened  wearily  and 
closed  again.  Thor  seized  the  two  cold  hands  in  his  own 
and  spoke: 

"It's  all  right,  old  chap.  Just  lie  still  for  a  minute, 
till  I  go  and  get  you  a  taste  of  brandy.  Be  back  like  a 
shot.  Don't  move.  You'll  be  all  right.  Fit  as  a  fiddle 
when  you've  had  something  to  brace  you  up." 

No  answer  came,  but  Thor  sought  for  none.  The  worst 
was  past;  the  danger  was  averted.  With  the  two  cold 
hands  still  pressed  in  his  own,  he  bent  forward  and  kissed 
the  pale  lips  with  a  life-giving  kiss  such  as  Elijah  gave  to 
the  Shunamite  woman's  son.  Under  the  warmth  of  the 
imprint  Claude  stirred  again  as  if  making  a  response. 

34o 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

He  ran  pantingly  like  a  spent  dog — but  he  ran.  He  had 
no  idea  what  time  it  was.  It  might  have  been  midnight; 
it  might  have  been  near  morning.  He  was  amazed  to 
hear  the  village  clock  strike  ten.  Only  ten!  and  he  had 
lived  a  lifetime  since  nine. 

He  rejoiced  to  see  a  light  in  the  house.  Lois  would  be 
up.  As  he  drew  near  he  saw  it  was  the  light  streaming 
from  her  room  to  the  upper  balcony  outside  it.  When 
nearer  still  he  caught  the  faint  glimmer  of  a  white  dress. 
She  was  sitting  there  in  the  cool  of  the  night,  as  they  had 
so  often  sat  together  in  the  spring. 

He  called  out  as  soon  as  he  thought  he  could  make  her 
hear  him.     "Lois,  come  down!" 

The  white  figure  remained  motionless,  so  that  as  he 
ran  he  called  again,  "Lois,  come  down!" 

He  could  see  her  rise  and  peer  outward.  Still  running, 
he  called  the  third  time:  "Lois,  come  down!  I  want 
something!" 

There  was  a  hurried  "Oh,  Thor,  is  it  you?"  after  which 
the  figure  disappeared  in  the  light  from  the  open  window. 

She  met  him  at  the  door  as  he  ran  up  the  steps.  There 
was  no  greeting  between  them.  He  had  just  breath 
enough  to  speak.  "It's  Claude.  He's  down  there  in  the 
house.     He's  hurt.     I  want  some  brandy." 

He  was  in  the  hall  by  this  time,  while  she  followed. 
His  own  appearance,  now  that  he  was  in  the  light,  drew  a 
cry  from  her.     "But,  Thor,  you're  all  cut — and  bleeding." 

He  was  now  in  the  dining-room,  fumbling  at  a  drawer 
of  the  sideboard.  "Never  mind  that  now.  It  doesn't 
hurt.  I'll  attend  to  it  by  and  by.  I  must  get  back  to 
Claude.     Is  it  here?" 

"No;  here."  She  produced  the  bottle  of  cognac  from 
a  cupboard,  thrusting  it  into  his  hands.  "Now  come. 
I'm  going  with  you." 

They  stopped  for  no  further  explanation.  That  could 
wait.  Thor  was  out  of  the  house,  tearing  down  the  empty 
street,  while  she  followed  scarcely  less  swiftly.     At  that 

34i 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

time  of  night  they  were  almost  sure  to  have  the  roadway 
to  themselves. 

She  lost  sight  of  him  as  he  turned  in  at  the  avenue, 
but  continued  to  press  on.  That  there  had  been  a  struggle 
between  the  brothers  she  could  guess,  though  she  let  the 
matter  pass  without  further  mental  comment.  The  fact 
that  filled  her  consciousness  was  that  in  some  strange  way 
Thor  was  back — wild-eyed  and  bleeding.  Whatever  had 
happened,  he  would  probably  need  her  now,  accepting  the 
substitute  for  love. 

Half-way  up  the  avenue  she  saw  that  both  the  inner 
and  outer  doors  of  the  house  were  open  and  that  the 
electricity  from  the  hall  lit  up  the  porch  and  steps.  Thor 
was  still  running,  but  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  surprised 
her  by  coming  to  a  halt  instead  of  leaping  up  them,  two 
or  three  at  a  time.  Stopping  abruptly,  silhouetted  in  the 
spot  of  light,  he  threw  his  hands  above  his  head  as  if  he 
had  been  shot  and  were  staggering  backward.  He  hadn't 
been  shot,  because  there  was  no  sound.  He  hadn't  even 
been  wounded,  because  as  she  sped  toward  him  she  could 
see  him  stoop — spring  away — return — and  stoop  again. 
She  was  about  to  call  out,  "Oh,  Thor,  what  is  it?"  when, 
on  hearing  her  footsteps,  he  bounded  to  his  feet  and  ran  in 
her  direction.  "Go  back!"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "Go 
back!    Go  back,  Lois,  go  back!" 

But  she  hurried  on.  If  there  was  trouble  or  danger  she 
must  be  by  his  side. 

He  wheeled  around  again  to  that  over  which  he  had  been 
stooping,  but  with  a  repetition  of  the  movement  of  flinging 
up  the  hands.  After  that  he  seemed  to  crawl  away — 
to  crawl  away  till  he  reached  the  steps,  where,  pulling 
himself  half-way  up,  he  lay  with  his  face  hidden.  The 
thing  he  had  seen  was  something  fatal  and  final,  leaving 
no  more  to  be  done.  The  thought  came  to  her  that  if 
there  was  no  more  for  him  to  do,  it  was  probable  that  her 
work  was  just  beginning  and  that  she  must  keep  herself 
calm  and  strong. 

342 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  came  to  him  at  last  and  bent  over  his  long,  pros- 
trate form.  It  was  racked  and  heaving.  The  sobbing 
was  of  a  kind  she  had  never  heard  before — the  violent, 
convulsive  sobbing  of  a  man. 

Raising  herself,  she  looked  about  for  the  cause  of  this 
grief,  for  a  second  or  two  seeing  nothing.  The  ra^oite  en- 
abled her  to  renew  her  sense  of  the  necessity  laid  upon 
her  to  be  helpful.  Whatever  was  there,  she  must  neither 
flinch  nor  cry  out.  She  must  take  up  the  task  where  he 
had  been  forced  to  lay  it  down. 

It  was  a  bare  arm  from  which  the  shirt-sleeve  had  been 
torn  away  that  caught  her  attention  first — a  bare  arm 
with  a  spatter  of  blood  on  it.  It  lay  extended  along  the 
grass  just  beside  the  driveway.  She  was  obliged  to  take 
a  step  or  two  toward  it  before  seeing  that  it  was  Claude's 
arm,  and  that  he  himself  was  lying  on  the  sward  of  the 
lawn,  with  a  little  trickle  of  blood  from  his  heart. 

She  was  not  frightened.  She  was  not  even  appalled. 
She  understood  as  readily  what  she  ought  to  do  as  if  the 
accident  had  been  part  of  every  day's  routine.  But  as 
her  glance  went  first  to  the  dead  brother  and  then  to  the 
living  one  she  knew  that  her  substitute  for  love  had  been 
found. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

WHEN  Jasper  Fay  was  tried  for  the  murder  of 
Claude  Masterman,  and  acquitted  of  the  charge, 
it  was  generally  felt  that  the  ends  of  justice  had  been 
served.  No  human  being,  whatever  his  secret  opinion, 
could  have  desired  the  further  punishment  of  that  little 
old  man  whose  sufferings  might  have  expiated  any  pos- 
sible crime  in  advance.  The  jury  having  found  it  im- 
probable that  at  his  age,  and  with  his  infirmities,  he 
should  have  been  lurking  in  the  village  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night  and  waiting  in  the  neighborhood  of  Colcord  jail 
at  dawn  of  the  next  morning,  the  verdict  was  accepted  with 
relief  not  only  in  the  little  court-house  of  the  county  town, 
but  by  the  outside  public.  To  none  was  this  absolution 
more  nearly  of  the  nature  of  a  joy  than  to  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man's  family. 

That  was  in  the  winter  of  191 2,  and  in  the  mean  while 
Lois  had  been  led  so  successfully  by  her  substitute  for 
love  as  to  be  at  times  unaware  of  her  lack  of  the  divine 
original.  For  she  was  busy,  so  it  seemed  to  her,  every 
day  of  every  week  and  every  minute  of  every  day.  The 
first  dreadful  necessities  on  that  night  of  the  9th  of 
July  having  been  attended  to,  her  thought  flew  at  once  to 
the  father  and  mother  of  the  dead  boy. 

"Thor  dear,  I  know  exactly  what  I'm  going  to  do  about 
them,  if  you'll  let  me." 

It  was  early  morning  by  the  time  she  said  that,  and 
all  that  was  immediately  pressing  was  over.  Claude 
was  lying  in  one  of  the  spare  rooms  that  had  been  prepared 

344 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

for  him,  and  Dr.  Noonan,  together  with  the  four  or  five 
grave,  burly  men,  Irish-Americans  as  far  as  she  could 
judge,  who  had  been  in  and  about  the  house  all  night 
hunting  for  traces  of  the  crime,  had  gone  away.  Those 
who  were  still  beating  the  shrubbery  and  the  grounds  were 
not  in  view  from  the  library  windows.  Maggs  and  his 
wife  were  in  the  house,  as  well  as  Dearlove  and  Bright- 
stone,  getting  it  ready  for  re-occupation,  since  it  was  but 
seemly  that  the  dread  guest  who  had  come  under  its  roof 
should  be  decently  lodged. 

Thor,  having  spent  some  hours  before  the  stupefied 
village  authorities,  was  surprised  and  obscurely  disap- 
pointed not  to  be  put  under  arrest.  Public  disgrace 
would  have  appeased  in  a  measure  the  clamor  of  self- 
accusation.  To  be  treated  with  respect  and  taken  at  his 
word  in  his  account  of  what  had  happened  between  him- 
self and  Claude  was  like  an  insult  to  a  martyr's  memory. 
When  dismissed  to  his  home  he  found  it  hard  to  go. 

Having  dragged  himself  back  through  the  gray  morning 
light,  it  was  to  discover  strange  wonders  wrought  in  the 
immediate  surroundings.  Lois  and  her  four  assistants 
had  whisked  the  coverings  from  the  furniture  and  re- 
stored something  like  an  air  of  life.  Even  the  library, 
having  been  sufficiently  noted  and  described,  had  been 
set  in  what  was  approximately  order,  the  broken  picture 
taken  from  its  nail  and  the  broken  window  hidden  by  a 
curtain. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  room  Thor  paused,  shrinking 
from  a  spot  which  henceforth  he  must  regard  as  cursed. 
But  Lois  insisted.  "Come  in,  Thor  dear;  come  in." 
She  felt  it  imperative  that  he  should  overcome  on  the 
instant  anything  in  the  way  of  terrible  association.  He 
must  counteract  remorse;  he  must  not  let  himself  be 
haunted.  She  herself  sat  still,  therefore,  with  the  re- 
strained demeanor  of  one  who  has  seen  nothing  in  the 
circumstances  with  which  she  has  not  been  able  to  cope. 
Pale,  with  dark  rings  under  the  eyes  betraying  the  inner 

23  345 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

effect  of  the  night  of  stress,  she  nevertheless  carried  her- 
self as  if  equal  to  confronting  developments  graver  still. 
The  strength  she  inspired  came  from  rising  to  the  facts  as 
to  some  tremendous  matter  of  course. 

Now  that  there  was  a  lull  in  the  excitement  she  had 
been  quietly  discussing  the  conditions  with  Uncle  Sim 
and  Dr.  Hilary.  The  latter  went  forward  as  Thor,  tall, 
gaunt,  red-eyed,  the  wound  in  his  forehead  stanched  with 
plaster,  advanced  into  the  room. 

"You're  face  to  face  with  a  great  moral  test,  me  dear 
Thor,"  he  said,  laying  his  hands  on  the  young  man's 
shoulders,  "but  you'll  rise  to  it." 

Thor  started  back,  less  in  indignation  than  in  horror. 
"Rise?    Me?" 

"Yes,  you,  me  dear  Thor.  You'll  climb  up  on  it  and 
get  it  under  your  feet.  The  best  use  we  can  make  of 
mistake  and  calamity  is  to  stand  on  them  and  be  that 
much  higher  up.  I  don't  care  what  your  sin  has  been  or 
what  your  self-reproach.  Now  that  they're  there,  you'll 
utilize  them  for  your  spiritual  growth.  Neither  do  I 
say  God  help  you!  for  I'm  convinced  in  me  soul  that 
He's  doing  it." 

Thor  moved  uneasily  from  under  the  weight  of  the 
benedictory  hands.  It  was  as  part  of  his  rejection  of 
mercy  that  he  muttered,  "I  don't  know  anything  about 
Him." 

"Don't  you,  now?  Well,  that's  not  so  important.  He 
knows  all  about  you.  It's  not  what  we  know  about  God, 
but  what  God  knows  about  us  that  tells  most  in  the  long 
run." 

He  passed  on  into  the  hall,  where  he  picked  up  his  hat 
and  went  out.  Uncle  Sim,  who,  with  more  of  Don  Quixote 
in  his  face  than  ever,  had  been  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room,  threw  over  his  shoulder,  "Always  said  you  were  on 
the  side  of  the  angels,  Thor — and  you  are." 

Thor  found  his  way  wearily  to  the  chimney-piece,  where 
he  stood  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands  and  his  back  to 

346 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

his  two  companions.  He  groaned  impatiently.  "Ah, 
don't  talk  about  angels!" 

Uncle  Sim  continued  his  pacing.  "But  I  will.  Now's 
the  time.  What,  after  all,  are  they  but  the  forces  in  life 
that  make  for  the  best,  and  who's  ever  been  on  their  side 
more  than  you?" 

Thor  groaned  again.  "What  good  does  that  do  me 
now?" 

"This  good,  that  when  you've  been  with  them  they'll  be 
with  you,  and  don't  you  forget  it!  Life  doesn't  forsake 
the  children  who've  been  trying  to  serve  it,  not  even  when 
they  lose  control  of  themselves  for  a  few  minutes  and  do — 
do  what  they're  sorry  for  afterward." 

Thor  writhed.     ' '  I  killed  Claude. ' ' 

"Oh  no,  you  didn't,  Thor  dear,"  Lois  said,  quietly. 
"It's  wrong  for  you  to  keep  saying  so.  We  can  see 
perfectly  well  what  has  happened,  can't  we,  Uncle  Sim? 
If  Claude  revived  while  you  were  away  and  went  out  to 
get  more  air,  and  some  one,  as  you  think,  was  lurking  in 
the  shrubbery — " 

"  But  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me — " 

"As  far  as  that  goes  I  might  as  well  say,  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  me.  I've  told  you  how  he  came  to  me  two  days 
ago  and  how  I  discouraged  him.  We're  all  involved — 
you  no  more  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"If  he  is  involved  more  than  the  rest  of  us,"  Uncle 
Sim  declared,  "it's  all  the  more  reason  why  the  good 
forces  by  which  he's  stood  should  now  stand  by  him. 
It's  a  matter  of  common  experience  to  all  who've  ever 
made  the  test  that  they  do."  He  turned  more  directly 
to  Thor.  "There's  a  verse  in  one  of  those  old  songs  I'm 
fond  of  quoting  at  you — I'll  never  trouble  you  with 
another,"  he  promised,  hurriedly,  in  answer  to  a  movement 
of  protest  on  his  nephew's  part,  "if  you'll  only  listen  to 
this.  It's  right  to  the  point,  and  runs  this  way:  'The 
angel  of  the  Lord  encampeth  round  about  them  that 
fear  Him,  and  delivereth  them.'     They're  camping  round 

347 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

about  you  now,   Thor,   as  I've  always  told  you  they 
would." 

Thor  raised  his  head  just  enough  to  say  savagely  over 
his  shoulder,  "But  when  I  never  have  feared  Him,  in  the 
way  you  mean — and  don't." 

"Oh,  but  you  have — and  do.  There's  two  types  for 
that  sort  of  thing,  both  sketched  in  graphic  style  by  the 
Master.  There's  the  two  sons  sent  to  work  in  the  vine- 
yard, of  whom  one  said  to  his  father,  'I  go,  sir,'  and  went 
not.  The  other  said,  'I  will  not,'  but  went.  'Whether 
of  them  twain,'  the  Master  asks,  'did  the  will  of  his 
father?'     I  leave  it  to  yourself,  Thor." 

Unable  to  escape  from  this  ingenious  pardon  that 
caught  and  blessed  him  whether  he  would  or  no,  Thor 
remained  silent,  while  the  uncle  addressed  himself  to  the 
niece.  "I'll  be  off  now,  Lois,  but  I'll  come  back  before 
long  and  bring  Amy.  We'll  stay  here.  The  house  '11  need 
to  have  people  in  it,  to  make  it  look  as  if  it  was  lived  in, 
till  Archie  and  Ena  can  be  got  at  and  brought  home." 

Thor  turned  and  looked  from  the  one  to  the  other  dis- 
tressfully. "Poor  father  and  mother!  What  about 
them?" 

It  was  then  that  Lois  showed  that  the  matter  had  al- 
ready received  her  attention.  "Thor,  dear,  I  know 
exactly  what  I'm  going  to  do,  if  you'll  let  me." 

She  had  been  so  efficient  throughout  the  night  that  both 
men  listened  expectantly  while  she  sketched  her  plan. 
She  would  cable  the  facts  as  succinctly  as  she  could  put 
them  to  her  own  father  and  mother,  who  were  in  their 
■petit  trou  pas  cher  on  the  north  coast  of  France.  They 
would  then  cross  to  England  and  break  the  news  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Masterman.  The  very  fact  of  the  breach 
between  her  parents  on  the  one  side  and  the  bereaved 
couple  on  the  other  was  an  additional  reason  for  charging 
the  former  with  the  errand  of  mercy.  Where  so  much 
had  been  taken  it  was  the  more  necessary  to  rally  what 
remained. 

348 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Having  expressed  his  approval  of  these  suggestions, 
Uncle  Sim  took  his  departure. 

"Where  is  he?"  Thor  asked  at  once. 

"Come." 

Though  she  rose,  she  lingered  to  say,  with  a  manner 
purposely  kept  down  to  the  simplest  and  most  matter- 
of-fact  plane:  "You'll  come  up  to  the  house  and  have 
breakfast,  won't  you,  Thor?  It  will  be  ready  about 
eight."  As  he  began  to  demur  on  the  ground  that  he 
couldn't  eat,  she  insisted.  "Oh,  but  you  must.  You 
know  that  yourself.  You'll  feel  better,  too,  when  you've 
had  a  bath.  You  can't  take  one  here,,  because  Mrs.  Maggs 
hasn't  put  the  towels  out.  Cousin  Amy  will  attend  to 
that  when  she  comes  down." 

These  and  similar  maternal  counsels  having  been 
given  and  received,  she  led  the  way  into  the  hall,  only  to 
pause  again  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "I  shall  go  out  now 
to  send  my  cablegram  to  mamma.  The  sooner  I  get 
it  off  the  better  it  will  be,  so  that  they  can  cross  from  Havre 
to  Southampton  to-night.  I've  got  it  all  thought  out 
and  condensed,  and  I  shall  write  it  in  French  so  as  to  keep 
it  from  the  people  in  our  own  office  here.  I  suppose  that 
everything  will  be  in  the  papers  by  the  afternoon,  and  we 
shall  have  to  accept  the  publicity."  Seeing  the  pain  in 
his  face,  she  took  the  opportunity  to  say:  "Oh,  we  can 
do  that  well  enough,  Thor  dear.  We  mustn't  be  afraid 
of  it.  We  mustn't  flinch  at  anything.  Whatever  has  to 
come  out  will  get  its  significance  only  from  the  way  we 
bear  it;  and  we  can  bear  it  well." 

Having  advanced  a  few  steps  up  the  stairs,  she  turned 
again  on  the  first  landing,  speaking  down  toward  him  as 
he  mounted.  "If  possible,  I  should  like  to  tell  Rosie 
myself.  It  will  be  a  shock  to  her,  of  course;  but  I  want 
to  be  with  her  when  she  has  to  meet  it.  Don't  you  think 
I  ought  to  be?"  On  his  expressing  some  form  of  mute 
agreement,  she  continued:  "Then,  if  you  approve,  I  shall 
telephone  to  Jim  Breen,  asking  him  to  bring  her  to  see  me. 

349 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

Rosie  will  guess,  by  my  sending  for  her,  that  something 
strange  has  happened.  I  shall  word  my  message  to  her 
in  that  way." 

Her  last  appeal  was  made  to  him  as  she  stood  with  one 
hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door  beyond  which  Claude  was 
lying.  "Thor  dear,  I  hope  you  get  at  the  truth  of  the 
things  Uncle  Sim  and  Dr.  Hilary  have  been  saying. 
There's  a  great  message  to  you  there.  You  are  on  the 
side  of  the  good  things,  you  know.  You  always  have 
been,  and  always  will  be." 

He  shook  his  head.  "It's  too  late  to  say  that  to  me 
now." 

"Oh  no,  it  isn't!  And  what's  also  not  too  late  to  say 
is  that  you  mustn't  let  yourself  be  ridden  by  remorse." 
His  haggard  eyes  seeming  to  ask  her  how  he  could  help  it, 
she  continued:  "Remorse  is  one  of  the  most  futile  things 
we  know  anything  about.  It  can't  undo  the  past,  while 
it  destroys  the  present  and  poisons  the  future." 

He  was  almost  indignant.     "But  when  you've — ?" 

"When  you've  given  way  as  you  say  you  gave  way  last 
night?  You  brace  yourself  against  doing  it  again.  You 
make  it  a  new  starting-point.     Isn't  that  it?" 

"Yes,  but  if  you're  Hke  me!" 

With  her  free  hand  she  brushed  back  the  shock  of  dark 
hair  from  his  forehead.  It  was  the  first  touch  of  personal 
contact  between  them  since  his  sudden  reappearance. 
"  If  one  is  like  you,  Thor,  of  course  it's  harder.  You're  a 
terrific  creature.  I  begin  to  see  that  now.  I  never  took 
it  in  before,  because  in  general  you're  so  restrained.  I 
know  it's  the  people  who  are  most  restrained  who  can  be 
swept  most  terribly  by  passion — but  I  hadn't  expected 
it  of  you.  Even  so,  it's  the  sort  of  thing  which  only  goes 
with  something  big  in  the  soul — " 

He  put  up  a  hand  protestingly.     "Don't!" 

"  But  I  must.  It  ought  to  be  said.  You  should  under- 
stand it.  Fundamentally — I  see  it  quite  plainly  now — 
you're  the  big  primitive  creature  that's  only  partially 

35° 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

tamed  by  the  tenderest  of  tender  hearts.  Do  you  know 
what  you  remind  me  of? — of  a  great  St.  Bernard  dog  that 
asks  nothing  better  than  to  love  every  one  and  save  life, 
but  which  when  it's  roused  .  .  . !  You  see  what  I  mean," 
she  went  on,  with  a  kind  of  soothing,  serious  cajolery. 
"Thor  dear,  I  was  never  so  afraid  of  you  as  I've  been  this 
night,  and  I  never" — loved  was  what  she  was  going  to 
say,  but,  as  on  the  day  in  the  winter  woods,  she  suppressed 
the  word  for  another — "I  never  admired  you  so  much. 
I'm  going  to  make  a  confession.  What  you  say  you  felt 
toward  Claude  is  what  I've  often  felt  myself  in — in 
glimpses.  God  knows  I  don't  say  that  to  malign  him. 
I  shouldn't  say  it  at  all  if  it  were  not  to  point  out  that  you 
wouldn't  have  done  him  any  more  harm — not  when  it 
came  to  the  act — than  I  myself.     Would  you,  now?" 

He  hung  his  head,  murmuring,  brokenly,  "No." 

"What  we've  got  to  see  is  that  you're  very  human, 
isn't  it?  and  that's  what  they  mean — Uncle  Sim  and 
Dr.  Hilary — when  they  say  that  you're  face  to  face 
with  a  great  moral  test.  They  mean  that  after  you've 
used  what — what's  happened  within  the  last  few  hours — 
as  you  can  use  it — as  you  can  use  it,  Thor  dear — you'll 
be  a  far  stronger  man  than  you  were  before — and  you 
were  a  strong  man  already." 

With  eyes  downcast  he  murmured  words  to  the  effect 
that  it  was  difficult  to  see  the  way. 

"Won't  the  way  be  to  take  each  new  thing  as  it  comes 
— and  there  are  some  very  hard  things  still  to  come,  you 
know ! — as  a  step  to  climb  by,  to  get  it  under  our  feet  as 
something  that  holds  us  up  instead  of  over  our  heads  as 
something  that  crushes  us  down  ?  Won't  that  be  the  way  ? 
It  may  be  like  climbing  a  Calvary,  but  all  the  same  we 
shall  be  there — up  instead  of  down — and,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile  so  faint  that  it  was  in  her  eyes  rather  than 
on  her  lips,  "and  you  know,  Thor  darling,  that  no  one 
is  ever  on  a  Calvary  alone." 

With  these  words  she  turned  the  handle  of  the  door, 

35i 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

leading  him  into  a  room  from  which  the  morning  light 
was  only  partially  excluded,  and  about  which  vases  and 
bowls  of  roses  had  already  been  set. 

Claude  was  lying  naturally,  wearing  a  suit  of  his  own 
pajamas,  white  with  a  little  pink  stripe,  his  face  turned 
slightly  and,  as  it  were,  expectantly  toward  the  two  who 
approached.  Having  entered  the  room  first,  Lois  kept  to 
the  background,  leaving  Thor  to  go  to  the  bedside  alone. 

The  difference  between  the  dead  Claude  and  the  sleep- 
ing one  was  in  the  expression.  In  the  sleeping  Claude  the 
features  were  always  as  if  chiseled  in  marble,  and,  like 
marble,  cold.  The  dead  Claude's  face,  on  the  contrary, 
radiated  that  which  might  have  passed  for  warmth  and 
life.  The  look  was  one  he  would  have  worn  if  mystified 
and  pleased  by  something  he  was  trying  to  understand. 
In  any  other  case  Thor  would  have  explained  away  this 
phenomenon  on  grounds  purely  physiological;  but  since 
it  was  Claude  he  found  himself  swept  by  an  invading 
wonder.  He  knew  what  people  more  credulous  than  him- 
self would  say.  They  would  say  that  on  the  instant  of 
the  great  change  toward  which  he  had  been  so  suddenly 
impelled  even  poor  Claude,  with  his  narrow  earthly  vision, 
had  been  dowered  with  an  increase  of  perception  that 
bewildered  and  perhaps  rejoiced  him.  Thor  couldn't  say 
this  himself;  but  he  could  wonder.  Was  it  possible  that 
Claude,  with  this  pleasing,  puzzled  dawn  upon  his  face, 
could  have  entered  into  phases  of  life  more  vivid  than  any 
he  had  left  behind?  Thor  found  the  question  surging 
within  his  soul ;  but  before  he  could  silence  it  with  any  of 
his  customary  answers  he  heard  the  counsel  of  wise  old 
Hervieu  of  the  Institut  Pasteur:  "Ne  niez  jamais  rien." 

But  his  need  was  emotional  and  not  philosophical. 
Stooping,  he  kissed  once  more  the  lips  on  which  there  was 
this  quiver  of  a  new  life  that  almost  made  them  move,  and 
sank  on  his  knees  beside  the  bed.  Lois,  who  knew  that 
beyond  any  subsequent  moment  this  would  be  the  one  of 
last  farewell,  slipped  softly  from  the  room  and  closed  the 

352 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

door  behind  her.  She  remembered  as  she  did  so  that 
apart  from  her  timid  touch  on  his  hair  there  had  been  no 
greeting  between  her  husband  and  herself  since  his  cry 
to  her  as  she  sat  on  the  balcony  in  the  darkness;  but  per- 
haps the  substitute  for  love  didn't  call  for  it. 

She  went  down-stairs  to  carry  out  her  intentions  of 
ringing  up  Jim  Breen  and  sending  her  cablegram  to 
France.  Since  the  necessity  for  doing  the  former  would 
take  her  to  her  own  house,  she  would  have  the  chance 
of  changing  her  dress  before  the  relative  publicity 
of  the  telegraph-office  in  the  Square.  She  would  need 
also  to  explain  the  circumstances  to  her  servants,  who 
by  this  hour  would  be  moving  about  the  house  and  might 
be  alarmed  on  finding  that  her  room  had  not  been  oc- 
cupied. The  door  to  the  garden  portico  being  that 
which  would  probably  be  unlocked,  she  turned  into 
Willoughby's  Lane,  where  her  attention  was  caught  by  the 
sight  of  two  men  coming  down  the  hill. 

What  she  saw  was  a  young  man  helping  an  older  one. 
The  old  man  leaned  heavily  on  his  companion,  hobbling 
with  the  weariness  of  one  who  can  barely  drag  himself 
along. 

Lois  was  seized  by  sudden  faintness;  but  a  saving 
thought  restored  her.  It  was  no  more  than  the  prompt- 
ing to  give  this  spent  wayfarer  a  cup  of  coffee  as  he  passed 
her  door,  but  it  met  the  instant's  need.  By  a  deliberate 
effort  of  the  will  she  banished  every  suggestion  beyond 
this  kindly  impulse.  If  there  were  graver  arguments  to 
urge  themselves,  they  were  for  others  rather  than  for  her. 

That  she  was  not  the  only  person  within  eight  or  ten 
hours  to  be  startled  by  the  sight  of  that  little  old  man  was 
abundantly  evidenced  later.  John  Stanchfield,  Elias 
Palmer,  Harold  Ormthwaite,  and  Nathan  Ridge,  all 
farmers  or  market-gardeners  of  the  Colcord  district, 
testified  to  frights  and  "spooky  feelings"  on  being  ac- 
costed by  a  dim  gray  figure  plodding  along  the  Colcord 

353 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

road  in  the  lonely  interval  between  midnight  and  morning. 
The  dim  gray  figure  seemed  to  have  recognized  the  dif- 
ferent "teams"  by  the  section  of  the  road  through  which 
they  jolted  or  by  their  nickering  lamps. 

"That  you, 'Lias?" 

"Why,  yes!  Who  be  you?  Darned  if  it  ain't  Jasper 
Fay!  What  under  the  everlastin'  canopy  be  you  a-doin' 
this  way  so  late  at  night? — so  early  in  the  mornin',  as 
you  might  say." 

"  My  poor  boy !    To  be  let  out  at  five !" 

Grunts  of  sympathy  and  inquiries  concerning  the  nature 
of  the  "truck"  being  taken  to  market  made  up  the  rest 
of  the  conversation,  which  ended  in  a  mutual,  "So  long!" 

With  John  Stanchfield  and  Harold  Ormthwaite  the 
exchange  of  salutations  had  been  on  similar  lines.  No 
one  but  old  Nathan  Ridge  had  had  the  curiosity  to  ask: 
"What  you  trampin'  the  eight  mile  for?  Could  have 
took  the  train  at  Marchfield,  and  got  out  at  the  jail 
door." 

"We-ell,  the  trains  didn't  just  suit.  Marchfield's  three 
mile  from  my  place,  and  if  it  comes  to  trampin'  three  mile 
you  might  as  well  make  it  eight." 

"Guess  you're  pretty  nigh  tuckered  out,  ain't  you?" 

"We-ell,  I'm  some  tired.  Been  takin'  it  easy,  though. 
Left  home  about  eight  o'clock  last  night  and  just  strolled 
along.  Fact  is,  Nathan,  I  had  to  be  out  o'  my  little 
place  last  night  root  and  branch,  and  it's  kind  of  eased 
my  mind  like  to  be  footin'  it  through  the  dark." 

"Guess  you  feel  pretty  bad,  don't  you?" 

"Well,  I  did.     Don't  so  much  now." 

"Got  used  to  it?" 

"No,  it  ain't  that  so  much.  It's  just  that  if  I've  suf- 
fered, others  will — "  But  according  to  Mr.  Ridge  further 
explanation  was  withheld,  the  speaker  going  on  disap- 
pointingly to  say:  "Guess  I'll  be  keepin'  along.  Hope 
you'll  get  your  price  on  them  pease.  Awful  sight  of  them 
in  the  market  after  this  last  dry  spell." 

354 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

So  Jasper  Fay  trudged  on.  He  trudged  on  patiently, 
with  the  ease  of  a  man  accustomed  all  his  life  to  plodding 
through  the  soil,  though  now  and  then  he  paused.  He 
paused  for  breath  or  for  a  minute's  repose,  and  sometimes 
to  listen.  He  listened  most  frequently  to  sounds  behind 
him  as  if  expecting  pursuit;  he  listened  to  the  barking  of 
dogs,  the  gallop  of  grazing  horses  across  the  dark  pas- 
tures, or  to  the  occasional  bray  of  a  motorist's  horn. 
When  nothing  happened,  he  went  on  again,  though  with 
each  renewal  of  the  effort  his  footsteps  lagged  more 
wearily. 

Dawn  was  gray  by  the  time  he  had  come  face  to  face 
with  the  long,  grim  house  of  sorrow.  It  was  grim  unin- 
tentionally, grim  in  spite  of  well-meant  efforts  to  cheer 
it  up  and  make  it  alluring,  at  least  to  the  passer-by. 
For  him  ampelopsis  had  been  allowed  to  clamber  over  the 
red-brick  walls;  for  him  a  fine  piece  of  lawn  was  kept 
neatly  cut;  for  him  the  national  flag  floated  during  day- 
light over  a  grotesque  pinnacle;  for  him  a  fountain  plashed 
on  feast-days.  Neither  fountain  nor  flag  nor  sward  nor 
vine  was  visible  except  to  the  outsider,  but  it  was  for  him 
the  effect  was  planned.  For  him,  too,  a  little  common  had 
been  set  apart  on  the  other  side  of  the  roadway  and 
garnished  with  a  wooden  bench  under  a  noble,  fan-shaped 
elm.  Jasper  Fay  sat  down  on  the  bench  as  he  had  sat 
down  on  it  many  a  time  before,  hunched  and  weary. 

For  the  three  years,  or  nearly,  in  which  Matt  had  been 
shut  up  here  the  father  had  spent  with  him  as  many 
as  possible  of  the  minutes  allowed  for  intercourse,  pro- 
longing the  sense  of  communion  by  sitting  and  staring 
at  the  walls.  In  times  past  he  had  stared  in  patient  long- 
ing for  the  moment  of  the  boy's  release;  but  this  morning 
he  only  stared.  Behind  the  staring,  thought  was  too  in- 
active for  either  retrospect  or  forecast;  and  thought  was 
inactive  because  both  past  and  future  now  contained 
elements  too  big  for  the  overtaxed  mind  to  deal  with. 
He  could  only  sit  wearily  and  expectantly  on  the  bench, 

355 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

watching,  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  long  wings,  a  small 
gray  door  on  which  he  had  been  told  to  keep  his  eyes. 

After  the  first  flicker  of  light  the  day  came  slowly. 
The  lowlands  around  the  prison  were  shrouded  in  a  thin 
gray  mist,  through  which  Lombardy  poplars  and  warders' 
cottages  and  prison  walls  loomed  ghostly.  When,  a  few 
minutes  after  the  clock  in  the  pinnacle  had  struck  five,  the 
gray  door  opened  soundlessly  and  a  shadowy  form  slipped 
out,  the  effect  was  like  that  of  a  departed  spirit  materializ- 
ing within  human  ken. 

The  shadowy  form  shook  hands  with  some  one  who 
remained  unseen,  and  after  it  had  taken  a  step  or  two  for- 
ward the  soundless  door  shut  it  out.  It  looked  timorous 
and  lone  in  the  wide,  ghostly  landscape,  advancing  a 
few  paces,  stopping,  searching,  advancing  again,  but  un- 
certainly. As  it  emerged  more  fully  into  view  it  dis- 
closed a  bundle  in  the  hand,  a  light  gray  suit,  and  a  com- 
mon round  straw  hat.  It  moved  as  though  testing  ground 
that  might  give  way  beneath  it  or  as  trying  the  conditions 
of  some  new  and  awesome  sphere  of  existence  into  which 
it  had  suddenly  been  thrust. 

With  all  his  remaining  forces  concentrated  into  one 
sharp,  eager  look,  Jasper  Fay  crept  forward.  The  ground- 
mist  blurring  his  outlines,  the  two  dim  figures  were  face 
to  face  before  the  son  perceived  his  father's  presence  or 
approach.     On  doing  so  he  started  back. 

"Why,  father!  What's  the  matter?  You  look"— 
his  voice  dropped  to  faintness — "you  look — terrible." 

But  the  father's  faculties  were  already  too  exhausted  to 
catch  the  movement  and  note  of  dismay.  He  was  drained 
even  of  emotion.  All  he  could  do  was  to  extend  his  hand 
with  the  casual  greeting:  "Well,  Matt!  How  are  you? 
Come  to  meet  you." 

He  explained,  however,  the  immediate  program,  which 
was  to  go  by  the  five-thirty  train  to  Marchfield,  whence  by 
taking  the  short  cut  through  Willoughby's  Lane  and 
County  Street  they  could  reach  home  for  breakfast  by 

356 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

seven.  Home,  it  had  to  be  told,  was  no  longer  the  little 
place  on  the  north  bank  of  the  pond,  but  a  three-family 
house  on  the  Thorley  estate,  with  a  "back  piazza"  for 
yard  and  nothing  at  all  in  the  way  of  garden.  A  home 
without  a  garden  to  an  old  man  who  had  lived  in  gardens 
all  his  life  was  more  of  an  irony  than  a  home  without  a 
rooftree,  but  even  this  evoked  from  the  sufferer  •only  a 
mild  statement  of  the  fact.  Mildness,  resigned  and  ap- 
parently satisfied,  marked  all  the  turnings  of  the  narrative 
unfolded  as  they  plodded  to  the  station,  while  the  son  took 
the  opportunity  to  scan  at  his  leisure  those  changes  in  the 
sunken  face  that  had  shocked  him  at  the  moment  of 
encounter. 

It  was  no  new  tale  that  Matt  heard,  but  it  pieced  to- 
gether the  isolated  facts  made  known  to  him  in  the  few 
letters  he  had  received  and  the  scattered  bits  of  family 
news  he  had  been  able  to  pick  up  on  visiting-days.  For 
all  of  it  he  was  prepared.  He  would  have  been  prepared 
for  it  even  if  he  had  received  no  hint  in  advance,  since  it 
was  nothing  but  what  the  weak  must  expect  from  the 
strong  and  the  poor  from  the  rich.  "We'll  change  all 
that,"  was  his  only  comment;  but  he  made  it  whenever 
he  found  an  opening. 

Only  once  did  he  permit  himself  to  go  beyond  the 
dogged  repetition  of  this  phrase.  "Got  in  with  some 
fellows  there" — he  jerked  his  head  backward  in  the 
direction  from  which  they  had  come — "who've  thought 
the  whole  business  out.  Could  always  get  together — us 
trusties.  Internationals  them  fellows  were — the  I.  I.  A — 
heard  of  'em,  haven't  you?  No  bread  and  treacle  in  their 
program.     Been  handing  that  out  too  long." 

The  difference  between  the  face  Matt  Fay  had  looked 
forward  to  seeing  and  the  one  which  was  now  turned 
up  to  him  was  that  between  a  mirror  and  a  pane  of  glass. 
In  a  mirror  there  would  have  been  reflection  and  respon- 
siveness. Here  there  was  nothing  but  a  blank,  shiny  stare, 
vitreous  and  unintelligent.     Jasper  Fay,  it  seemed  to  his 

357 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

son,  had  passed  into  some  pitiful  and  premature  stage  of 
dotage. 

To  the  released  prisoner  the  change  was  but  one  more 
determining  factor  in  his  own  state  of  mind.  He  was 
prepared  to  find  his  mother  in  worse  case  than  his  father, 
and  Rosie  in  worse  case  still.  Poor  little  Rosie!  She  was 
the  traditional  victim  of  the  rich  man's  son.  So  be  it. 
Since  it  was  for  him  to  see  that  she  was  avenged,  he  asked 
nothing  better.  The  more  wrongs  there  were  besides  his 
own,  the  more  he  was  justified  in  joining  the  campaign  of 
blood  and  fire,  of  eloquence  and  dynamite,  to  which  he 
felt  a  call. 

He  thought  sullenly  over  these  things  as  the  train  jogged 
through  the  rich  fields  and  market-gardens  on  the  way  to 
Marchfield,  and  the  quiet  little  man  with  the  glassy  stare 
and  the  gentle,  satisfied,  senile  smile  sat  silent  in  the  seat 
beside  him.  Matt  Fay  was  glad  of  the  silence.  It  left 
him  the  more  free  to  gaze  at  the  meadows  and  pastures, 
at  the  turnips  and  carrots  and  cabbages,  of  which  the 
dewy  glimpses  fled  by  in  successive  visions  of  wonder.  It 
was  difficult  not  to  believe  that  the  sky  had  grown  bluer, 
the  earth  greener,  and  the  whole  round  of  nature  more 
productive  during  the  years  in  which  he  had  been  "put 
away."  His  surprise  in  this  recognition  of  the  beauty  of 
the  world  gave  a  poignant,  unexpected  blend  to  his  wrath 
at  having  been  compelled  to  forfeit  it. 

He  got  the  same  effect  from  every  bird  and  bee  and 
butterfly  that  crossed  his  path  between  Marchfield  and 
the  village.  No  yellowing  spray  of  goldenrod,  no  blue- 
eyed  ragged-robin,  but  symbolized  the  blessings  of  which 
he  had  been  cheated.  In  proportion  as  the  sun  broke 
through  the  bank  of  cloud,  burning  away  the  mist  and 
drawing  jeweled  rays  from  the  dewdrops,  the  new  recruit 
in  revolution  found  his  zeal  more  eager  to  begin.  The 
very  flagging  and  stumbling  of  the  steps  that  tottered 
beside  his  own  intensified  his  ardor. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

IT  was  more  strange  than  I  dare  tell  you,  mother  dear," 
Lois  added  to  the  letter  of  details  which  she  wrote 
at  odd  minutes  during  the  day,  "that  that  poor  old  man 
should  have  broken  down  just  at  our  door.  There  was 
a  kind  of  fatality  in  it,  as  if  he  had  come  to  throw  himself 
at  our  feet.  The  son  would  have  gone  on  if  his  father  had 
been  able  to  drag  himself  another  yard;  but  he  wasn't. 
It  was  all  we  could  do  to  get  him  up  the  portico  steps  and 
into  the  nearest  seat. 

"I  wonder  if  you  remember  him — old  Mr.  Fay?  If  so, 
you  wouldn't  know  him  now.  I  can  only  compare  him  to 
a  tree  that's  been  attacked  at  the  roots  and  shrivels  and 
dries  in  a  season.  He  seems  to  have  passed  from  sixty 
to  ninety  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  as  if  the  very 
principle  of  life  had  failed  him.  It  would  be  pitiful  if  it 
wasn't  worse.  I  mean  that  we're  afraid  it  may  be  worse, 
though  that  is  a  matter  which  as  yet  I  mustn't  write 
about. 

"The  son  puzzles  me — or  rather  he  would  if  there  were 
not  something  in  him  like  all  the  other  Fays,  desperate 
and  yet  attractive,  appealing  and  yet  hostile.  He  looks 
like  his  sister,  which  means  that  he's  handsome,  with 
those  extraordinary  eyes  of  the  shade  of  the  paler  kinds  of 
jade,  and  a  "finish  "  to  the  features  quite  unusual  in  a  man. 
The  prison  shows  in  his  pallor,  in  his  cropped  hair,  and  in 
something  furtive  in  the  glance  which,  Thor  says,  will 
probably  pass  as  he  gets  used  again  to  freedom.  I  re- 
member that  Dr.  Hilary  once  said  of  him  that  he's  the 
stuff  out  of  which  they  make  revolutionaries  and  anar- 

359 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

chists.  In  that  case  I  should  think  he  might  be  a  valuable 
addition  to  the  cause,  for,  as  with  Rosie,  there's  a  quality 
in  him  that  wins  you  at  the  very  moment  when  you're 
most  repelled.  He  makes  you  sorry  for  him.  We're 
sorry  for  them  all.  Even  now,  with  poor  Claude  lying 
there,  we've  no  other  feeling  than  that.  We've  had 
enough  of  retaliations  and  revenges.  Nothing  could 
prove  their  uselessness  more  thoroughly  than  what 
happened  here  last  night.  If  we  could  let  everything  rest 
where  it  is,  leaving  the  crime  to  be  its  own  punishment, 
God  knows  we  would  do  it  gladly." 

Later  in  the  day  she  continued :  "I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  the  meeting  between  Thor  and  that  poor  fellow 
who  has  just  come  out  of  jail.  Thor  was  superb — so 
gentle  and  kind  and  tender,  and  all  with  an  air  that 
tragic  sorrow  has  made  noble.  There  are  things  I  cannot 
tell  you  about  him — that  Thor  must  tell  to  his  father 
if  they're  ever  told  at  all — but  this  I  can  say  even  now, 
that  if  any  good  is  to  come  out  of  all  this  it  will  be  through 
Thor  more  than  any  one.  He  doesn't  see  his  way  as  yet, 
but  he'll  find  it.  He'll  find  it  by  the  same  impulse  that 
made  him  march  up  to  Matt  Fay,  putting  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder  and  looking  him  in  the  eyes  with  a  simple,  man- 
to-man  sympathy  which  no  one  could  resist.  The  very 
fact  that  Thor  feels  so  deeply  that  he's  been  to  blame — 
very,  very  much  to  blame — gives  intensity  now  to  his 
kindness.  As  for  Matt  Fay,  he  colored  and  stammered 
and  shuffled,  and  though  he  tried  to  maintain  his  bravado, 
it  was  without  much  success.  He  was  still  more  embar- 
rassed when,  after  the  old  man  had  finished  his  coffee  and 
was  able  to  move  again,  Thor  ordered  Sims  to  bring  round 
the  car  and  drive  the  two  of  them  home.  We  said  noth- 
ing to  them  about  Claude.  I  couldn't  have  borne  its 
being  mentioned  to  them  here — or  to  have  been  obliged 
to  watch  the  effect.  It  would  be  like  having  to  look 
on  at  a  vivisection.  There  are  things  I  don't  want 
to   see   or   to   know.     All   that   is   really  imperative  is 

360 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

that,  whatever  the  outcome,  they  should  consider  us 
their  friends." 

The  letter  was  not  finished  till  she  was  alone  that  night. 
She  wrote  carefully  at  first,  choosing  just  the  right  words. 
"Thor  is  sleeping  at  the  other  house,  and  may  continue 
to  do  so  for  some  time.  He  seems  to  want  to  be  there — 
as  you  can  understand.  Not  only  does  he  make  it  more 
bearable  for  Uncle  Sim  and  Cousin  Amy,  but  he  gets  a 
kind  of  assuagement  to  his  grief  in  being  near  Claude. 
You  needn't  be  surprised,  therefore,  if  he  remains  a  little 
longer — perhaps  longer  than  you  might  expect." 

Up  to  this  point  she  had  been  cautious,  but  for  a  minute 
something  less  controlled  escaped  her.  "Oh,  mother 
darling,  I  want  to  be  a  good  wife  to  Thor,  as  you've  been 
a  good  wife  to  papa.  He  needs  me,  and  yet  in  his  inmost 
heart  he's  bearing  this  great  trial  alone.  Don't  misunder- 
stand me.  I  haven't  broken  down.  Perhaps  if  I  could 
have  broken  down  a  little  it  would  have  brought  me  nearer 
to  him.  But  I'm  not  near  to  him.  There's  the  truth. 
I'm  infinitely  far  away  from  him.  In  a  sense  I'm  in- 
finitely below  him;  for  though  I've  been  right  in  certain 
matters  in  which  he  has  been  wrong,  I  feel  strangely  his 
inferior.  He  has  things  on  his  conscience  for  which  I 
know  he  finds  it  hard  to  see  the  way  of  repentance — and 
I  have  nothing  on  mine — nothing,  that  is,  but  a  vague 
discomfort  and  a  sense  of  not  being  wholly  right — and  yet 
I  feel  that  he's — how  shall  I  put  it? — that  he's  the  nearer 
to  God  of  us  two.  He  needs  me,  and  I  ought  to  help  him ; 
but  it's  like  helping  some  one  who's  on  a  tower  while  I 
stay  on  the  ground.  Oh,  mother  darling,  why  can't  I 
be  to  him  what  you've  been  to  papa?  What  is  it  that 
men  get  from  women  which  saves  them?  Thor  needs 
saving  just  as  much  as  other  men,  though  you  mightn't 
suppose  so.  I  know  you  think  him  perfect,  and  I  used 
to  think  the  same;  but  he's  not.  He  has  faults — grave 
ones.  I  even  know  that  he's  weak  where  I'm  strong,  and 
that  the  thing  he  needs  is  the  thing  I  can  supply — only  I 
24  361 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE   ANGELS 

don't  supply  it.  Mother  dear,  you've  given  it  to  papa 
or  he  wouldn't  be  recovering  as  he  is.  Why  can't  I  give 
it,  too?  He's  there  in  that  house,  and  I'm  here  in  this. 
His  heart  is  aching  for  grief,  and  mine  because  I  don't 
know  how  to  comfort  him — and  all  because  the  glimmer  of 
light  that  leads  me  on  isn't  strong  enough.  It's  better 
than  nothing;  I  don't  deny  that.  I  can  grope  my  way 
by  it  when  I  might  expect  to  be  utterly  bewildered — but, 
oh,  mother  dear,  it's  not  love." 

But  having  read  this  page  in  the  morning,  she  suppressed 
and  destroyed  it.  After  the  night's  rest  she  was  more 
sure  of  herself.  Since  she  had  any  clue  at  all  she  felt  it 
wise  to  possess  her  soul  in  patience  and  see  to  what  issue 
it  would  lead  her.  For  the  passages  she  withdrew  she 
substituted,  therefore,  such  an  account  of  Rosie  as  would 
put  her  mother  in  touch  with  that  portion  of  Claude's  life. 

"  It's  hard  to  know  how  the  little  thing  feels  just  now," 
she  went  on,  when  the  main  facts  had  been  given,  "because 
she's  so  stunned  by  dread.  It's  the  same  dread  that 
oppresses  us  all,  but  which  is  so  much  more  terrible  for 
them .  For  poor  little  Rosie  the  things  that  have  happened 
are  secondary  now  to  what  may  happen  still.  That  almost 
blots  Claude  out  of  her  mind.  Luckily  she  has  a  great 
deal  of  pluck — of  what  in  our  old-fashioned  New  England 
phrase  was  called  grit.  That  she'll  win  in  the  end,  and 
come  out  at  last  to  a  kind  of  happiness,  I  haven't  the 
least  doubt,  especially  as  she  has  that  fine  fellow,  Jim 
Breen,  to  turn  to.  You  remember  him,  don't  you?  It's 
touching  to  see  his  tenderness  to  Rosie,  now  that  she  has 
such  a  need  of  him.  It's  the  more  touching  because  she 
doesn't  give  him  anything  but  the  most  indirect  encourage- 
ment. He  knows  perfectly  well  that  whatever  he  gets 
from  her  now  will  be  only  her  second  best,  but  he's  grate- 
ful even  for  that. 

"She  came  to  me  yesterday  morning  of  her  own  accord, 
before  I  could  get  word  to  her.  William  Sweetapple  had 
heard  the  news  and  told  her  as  he  passed  the  house  where 

362 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

they  have  just  gone  to  live  in  Susan  Street.  Rosie  had 
been  early  to  the  door  to  take  in  the  milk,  and  Sweetapple 
was  going  by.  She  flew  here  at  once.  I  had  expected  her 
to  be  crushed — but  she  wasn't.  As  I've  just  said,  she 
seemed  to  be  looking  forward  rather  than  looking  back. 
She  was  looking  forward  to  what  I've  hinted  at  and  dare 
not  say,  and  setting  her  face  as  a  flint.  That  is  how  I  can 
best  describe  her — and  yet  it  was  as  a  flint  with  a  wonderful 
shine  on  it,  as  if  something  had  come  to  her  in  the  way 
of  inner  illumination  that  used  not  to  be  in  her  at  all. 
Jim  Breen  is  fond  of  saying  that  this  is  not  the  Rosie  of 
a  year  or  two  ago,  and  it  isn't.  It's  not  even  the  Rosie 
of  the  episode  with  Claude.  Her  face  is  now  like  a  lighted 
lamp  as  compared  with  the  time  when  it  was  blank.  I'm 
not  enough  in  her  confidence  to  know  exactly  what  has 
wrought  the  change,  so  that  I  can  only  guess.  It  seems 
to  me  the  same  thing  that  has  given  the  mother  a  new 
view  of  life,  only  that  Rosie  has  probably  come  to  it  by 
another  way.  They're  strangely  alike,  those  two — each 
so  tense,  so  strong,  so  demanding,  each  broken  on  the 
wheel,  and  each  with  that  something  firm  and  fine  in  the 
grain  to  which  the  wheel  can  do  no  more  than  impart  a 
higher  patina  of  polishing.  They  seem  to  me  to  bring 
down  into  our  rather  sugary  life  some  of  the  old,  narrow, 
splendidly  austere  New  England  qualities  that  have  almost 
passed  away  and  to  make  them  bloom — bloom,  that  is, 
as  the  portulacca  blooms,  in  a  parched  soil  where  any 
other  plant  would  bake,  and  yet  with  an  almost  painfully 
vivid  brilliancy.  Doesn't  George  Meredith  say  in  one 
of  his  books — is  it  The  Egoist? — that  the  light  of  the  soul 
should  burn  upward?  Well,  that's  what  it  seems  to  do 
in  them — to  burn  upward  with  a  persistent  glow,  in  spite 
of  conditions  that  might  reasonably  put  it  out." 

"The  old  man  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  she  wrote  later, 
"chiefly  because  it  is  so  impossible  to  connect  him  with 
any  of  the  things  we  fear.  He  seemed  so  small  and 
shrunken  and  harmless  as  he  sat  on  the  portico  yester- 

363 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

day  morning,  drinking  his  coffee  and  munching  a  slice  of 
toast,  that  he  appealed  to  me  only  as  something  to  be 
taken  care  of.  That  sinister  element  which  I've  seen  in 
him  of  late  had  gone  altogether,  leaving  nothing  but  his 
old,  faded,  dreamy  mildness,  contented  and  appeased. 
That  is  the  really  uncanny  thing,  that  he  seems  satis- 
fied. He  showed  no  fear  of  us  at  all,  nor  the  slightest 
nervousness,  not  even  when  Thor  came.  Thor  was 
startled  to  see  him  there  at  first,  but  I  managed  to 
whisper  a  word  or  two  in  French,  so  that  he  went  straight 
up  to  Fay  and  shook  hands.  I  was  glad  of  that.  It  put 
us  in  the  right  attitude — that  of  not  trying  to  find  a  victim 
or  looking  for  revenge." 

Before  adding  her  next  paragraph  she  weighed  its  sub- 
ject-matter pensively.  It  was  not  necessary  to  her  letter; 
it  was  nothing  her  mother  was  obliged  to  know.  She  de- 
cided to  say  it,  however,  from  an  instinct  resembling  that 
of  self-preservation.  If  her  mother  were  ever  to  hear 
anything. . . . 

"Thor  saw  Rosie,  too.  He  was  coming  down-stairs 
from  taking  a  bath  just  as  she  was  in  the  hall  going  away. 
It  was  the  first  time  he'd  seen  her  since  before  we  were 
married.  He  was  so  lovely  to  her! — I  wish  I  could  tell 
you !  You  know  he  used  to  be  interested  in  her  in  the  days 
when  her  mother  was  his  only  patient.  It  was  through 
him,  if  you  remember,  that  Rosie  and  I  came  to  be  friends 
in  the  first  place.  He  asked  me  to  go  and  see  her,  to  be 
nice  to  her.  He  feels  very  strongly  that  we  people  of  the 
old,  simple  American  stock  should  have  held  together  in 
a  way  we  haven't  done,  and  that  we  shouldn't  have  al- 
lowed money  to  dig  the  abyss  between  us  which  I'm  afraid 
is  there  now.  I  know  that  you  personally  are  not  inter- 
ested in  ideals  of  this  kind,  and  yet  Thor  wouldn't  be  the 
Thor  you  love  unless  he  had  them.  So  he  was  lovely  with 
Rosie,  holding  her  hand,  and  looking  down  at  her  with 
those  kind  eyes  of  his,  and  begging  her,  whatever  hap- 
pened— whatever  happened,  mind  you! — to  throw  every- 

364 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

thing  on  him  in  the  way  they  would  do  if  he  was  brother 
to  them  all.  People  talk  about  the  brotherhood  of  man; 
but  there  will  never  be  any  such  thing  as  the  brotherhood 
of  man  till  more  men,  and  more  women,  too,  get  the  spirit 
that's  in  him." 

Claude  had  been  a  week  or  more  in  his  grave  when  the 
letters  began  to  arrive  from  Mrs.  Willoughby. 

"As  to  our  sailing,"  she  wrote  from  London,  "every- 
thing depends  on  Ena.  My  cablegrams  will  have  told 
you  that  she's  better,  but  not  exactly  how.  She's  better 
mentally,  and  very  sweet.  I  think  it  surprising.  Now 
that  the  first  shock  is  past,  she's  calmer,  too,  and  doesn't 
say  so  often  that  she  expected  it.  Why  she  should  have 
expected  it  I  couldn't  make  out  till  last  night,  when  Archie 
told  me  that  there'd  been  something  between  Claude  and 
a  girl  named  Fay.  I  remember  those  Fays;  queer  people 
they  always  were,  and  rather  uppish.  She  was  a  big, 
handsome  girl  when  I  was  a  little  one.  Eliza  Grimes  was 
her  name,  and  as  long  ago  as  that  she  couldn't  keep  her 
place.  I  remember  how  she  came  for  a  while  to  Aunt 
Rachel's  school,  though  not  for  long.  Aunt  Rachel 
couldn't  draw  too  exclusive  a  line  at  first,  but  she  did 
drop  her  in  the  end.  I  should  never  have  thought  that 
Claude  would  take  up  with  a  girl  like  that — Claude,  of  all 
people.  You  can't  run  counter  to  class  distinctions  with- 
out making  trouble,  I  always  say — and  you  see  how  it 
acts.  You  and  Thor  are  far  too  republican,  or  too 
democratic,  or  whatever  it  is,  but  I  never  thought  that  of 
poor  Claude. 

"Not  that  Archie  attributes  this  dreadful  thing  to  the 
connection  with  the  Fays.  He  won't  hear  of  any  such 
suggestion.  Ena  seemed  to  look  on  it  at  first  as  a  retribu- 
tion, but  Archie  insists  that  there  never  was  anything  to 
retribute.  There  may  be  two  opinions  about  that,  though, 
mind  you,  I'm  not  saying  so.  To  the  best  of  my  ability 
I'm  letting  bygones  be  bygones,  as  I  think  I've  shown. 

365 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

But  Ena  certainly  thought  so  at  first,  and  it's  my  belief 
she  does  still.  She's  told  me  herself  that  when  they  were 
motoring  through  Devon  and  Cornwall  they  never  reached 
their  destination  for  the  night  without  her  being  afraid  of 
a  cablegram  awaiting  their  arrival.  She  was  sure  some- 
thing terrible  was  going  to  happen,  and  knew  it  before  they 
left  home.  I  asked  her  in  that  case  why  in  the  name  of 
goodness  they  should  have  come,  but  she  couldn't  answer 
me.  Or,  rather,  she  did  answer  me — just  the  kind  of 
answer  you'd  expect  from  her.  It  was  to  get  some  new 
things,  and  she's  got  them.  Lovely,  some  of  them  are, 
especially  the  dinner-gowns  from  Mariette's — but  with 
their  money — and  where  it  comes  from — it's  easy  to  dress. 
Retribution  indeed!  It  must  be  retribution  enough  for 
the  poor  thing  just  to  look  at  them.  She's  already  had  a 
woman  from  Jay's  to  talk  over  her  mourning.  Seems 
heartless,  doesn't  it  ?  but  then,  of  course,  she  must  have  it. 
Jay's  woman  had  to  take  her  measurements  from  the 
gray  traveling-suit,  for  the  doctor  won't  let  her  get  up  for 
another  week,  not  even  to  be  fitted.  That  will  show  you 
how  far  we  are  from  sailing,  and  poor  Archie  has  changed 
the  bookings  twice. 

"As  for  him,  I  can't  tell,  for  the  life  of  me,  how  he  feels 
about  being  kept  here — he's  so  frightfully  the  gentleman. 
I've  always  said  that  he  wore  good  manners  not  as  his 
natural  face,  but  as  a  mask,  and  I  feel  it  now  more  than 
ever.  It's  a  mask  that  hides  even  his  tears,  though 
I'm  sure,  poor  man,  they  flow  fast  enough  beneath  it. 
All  the  same,  I  suspect  that  he  finds  it  something  of  a  relief 
to  be  held  up  here — for  a  while,  at  any  rate.  He  wishes 
he  was  home,  and  yet  for  some  reason  he's  afraid  to  get 
there.  Terrible  as  everything  is,  I  know  he  feels  that  it 
will  be  more  terrible  still  when  he's  on  the  spot." 

It  was  in  a  subsequent  letter  that  Mrs.  Willoughby 
wrote:  "I  had  to  scrawl  so  hurriedly  yesterday  to  catch 
the  first  mail  that  I  couldn't  begin  at  the  beginning,  or 
get  to  the  point,  or  anything.     I'll  try  now,  though,  as 

366 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

for  the  beginning,  it's  like  going  back  to  the  dark  ages, 
it  all  seems  so  long  ago. 

"Your  first  cablegram  giving  us  the  news  arrived  at 
Les  Dalles  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  such  a 
scramble  as  we  had  to  get  over  to  Havre  in  time  for  the 
night  boat!  I  can't  tell  you  how  we  felt,  for  it  was  one  of 
those  shocks  so  awful  that  you  don't  feel  anything.  At 
least  I  didn't  feel  anything,  though  I  can't  say  the  same 
of  your  father.  He,  poor  lamb,  has  felt  it  terribly,  so 
sensitive  as  he  is,  and  so  easily  upset.  Well,  we  managed 
to  get  to  Havre  in  time,  and  had  a  fair  crossing.  We 
reached  London  about  ten  in  the  morning,  and  of  course 
had  no  notion  of  where  Archie  and  Ena  were.  So  we 
drove  to  their  bankers,  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  found 
they  were  in  London  on  their  way  between  Cornwall  and 
the  north. 

"Once  we'd  learned  that,  we  came  straight  to  this  hotel, 
and  sent  up  our  cards.  After  that  we  waited.  Waited! 
I  should  say  so.  Your  father  got  crosser  and  crosser, 
threatening  to  go  away  without  breaking  the  news  at  all. 
We  knew  they  thought  we'd  come  to  make  trouble  about 
old  scores,  and  were  discussing  whether  or  not  to  see  us. 
When  word  came  at  last  that  we  were  to  be  shown  up 
your  father  was  in  such  a  state  that  I  had  to  leave  him 
in  the  public  parlor  and  go  and  face  it  alone. 

"I  wonder  if  you've  ever  had  the  experience  of  being 
ushered  into  a  room  where  you  could  see  you  weren't 
wanted?  I  don't  suppose  so.  I  never  had  it  before,  and 
I  hope  I  never  shall  again.  It  was  one  of  those  chintzy 
English  sitting-rooms  with  flowers  in  every  corner.  I 
shall  never  see  Shirley  poppies  again  without  thinking  of 
poor  Claude.  Archie  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  looking  more  the  gentleman  than  ever,  but  no  Ena ! 

"'I'm  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Bessie,'  he  said, 
with  that  frigid  sympathy  of  his  which  to  me  is  always 
like  iced  water  down  the  spine.  '  Is  there  anything  I  can 
do  for  you?' 

367 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"We  were  facing  each  other,  with  a  round  table  between 
us.  'No,  Archie,'  I  said.  ' I  didn't  come  on  my  account, 
but  on  yours.' 

"I  can  see  him  still — the  way  he  stood — with  a  queer 
little  upward  flash  of  the  eyebrows.     'Indeed?' 

'"Yes.  I  had  a  cablegram  yesterday  afternoon — from 
Lois.'  I  gave  him  time  to  take  that  in.  'We  came  over 
at  once — Len  and  I.' 

"  I  had  scarcely  said  this  when  my  heart  leaped  into  my 
mouth,  for  Ena  cried  out  from  behind  the  door  leading 
into  the  bedroom,  where  I  felt  sure  she  was:  'It's  about 
Claude!'  It  was  the  strangest  sound  I  ever  heard — the 
kind  of  sound  she  might  have  made  if  she  saw  something 
falling  on  her  that  would  kill  her. 

"Archie  stood  motionless,  but  he  turned  a  kind  of  gray- 
white.     '  Is  it  ?'  was  all  he  asked. 

"  I  waited  again — waited  long  enough  to  let  them  see  that 
what  I  had  to  tell  was  grave.     'It  is,  Archie,'  I  said  then. 

'"Is  he — ?'  Archie  began,  but  I  saw  he  couldn't  finish. 
In  fact  he  didn't  need  to  finish,  because  Ena  cried  out 
again,  'He's  dead!' 

"Archie  could  only  question  me  with  his  eyes,  so  that 
I  said,  'I'm  sorry  to  have  been  the  one  to  bring  you  the 
news — ' 

"I  got  no  further  than  that  when  a  kind  of  strangling 
moan  came  from  Ena  and  a  sound  as  if  she  was  falling. 
Archie  ran  into  the  bedroom,  and  the  first  thing  I  heard 
was,  'Bessie,  for  God's  sake  come  here!'  When  I  got 
there  Ena  was  lying  in  a  little  tumbled  heap  beside  the 
couch.  She  had  on  her  lilac  kimono  and  could  just  as 
well  have  seen  me  as  not,  so  I  knew  that  what  we  had  said 
down-stairs  had  been  true.  They  did  want  to  give  us  the 
cold  shoulder. 

"Well,  you  can  imagine  that  it  was  all  over  with  that. 
We  had  everything  we  could  do  to  bring  Ena  around  and 
get  her  on  the  couch.  It  took  the  longest  time,  and  while 
we  were  doing  it — before  she  could  follow  anything  we  said 

368 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

— Archie  asked  me  what  I  knew,  and.  I  told  him.  I  was 
glad  to  be  able  to  do  it  in  just  that  way,  because  I  could 
break  it  up  and  get  it  in  by  pieces,  a  fact  at  a  time.  There 
was  so  much  for  him  to  do,  too,  that  he  couldn't  give  his 
whole  mind  to  it,  which  was  another  mercy. 

"When  I  could  leave  Ena  I  slipped  into  the  sitting-room, 
shutting  the  door  behind  me,  and  letting  Archie  tell  her 
what  I  had  been  able  to  tell  him.  While  he  was  doing 
that  I  scribbled  a  little  note,  saying  that  Len  and  I  were 
going  to  Garland's,  where  they  would  find  us  in  case  we 
could  do  anything  more  to  help  them.  Without  waiting 
for  him  to  come  out  of  the  bedroom,  I  left  the  note  on  the 
table  and  went  away." 

In  succeeding  letters  Mrs.  Willoughby  told  how  Archie 
had  come  to  them  at  Garland's,  had  insisted  on  their 
returning  with  him  to  the  hotel  in  Brook  Street,  and  had 
installed  them  in  a  suite  of  rooms  contiguous  to  his  own. 
Moreover,  he  clung  to  them,  begging  them  not  to  leave 
him.  It  was  the  most  extraordinary  turning  of  the  tables 
Bessie  had  ever  known.  He  produced  the  impression  of 
a  man  not  only  stunned,  but  terrified.  If  the  hand  that 
had  smitten  Claude  had  been  stretched  right  out  of  heaven 
he  could  not  have  seemed  more  overawed.  He  was 
afraid — that  was  what  it  amounted  to.  If  Mrs.  Will- 
oughby read  him  aright,  the  tragic  thing  affected  him  like 
the  first  trumpet-note  of  doom.  It  was  as  if  he  saw  the 
house  he  had  built  with  so  much  calculation  beginning  to 
tumble  down — laid  low  by  some  dread  power  to  which  he 
was  holding  up  his  hands.  He  was  holding  up  his  hands 
not  merely  in  petition,  but  in  propitiation.  She  was  not 
blind  to  the  fact  that  there  was  a  measure  of  propitiation 
in  his  boarding  and  lodging  her  husband  and  herself. 
He  clung  to  them  because  his  desolation  needed  some- 
thing that  stood  for  old  friendship  to  cling  to ;  but  in  addi- 
tion to  that  he  had  dim  visions  of  the  dread  power  that 
had  smitten  Claude  looming  up  behind  them  and  acting 
somehow  on  their  behalf. 

369 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"It's  all  very  well  to  insist  that  there's  nothing  to 
retribute,"  ran  a  passage  in  one  of  the  letters,  "but  the 
poor  fellow  is  saying  one  thing  with  his  lips  and  another 
in  his  soul.  What's  the  play  in  which  the  ghosts  come 
back?  Is  it  "Hamlet,"  or  "Macbeth,"  or  one  of  Ibsen's? 
Well,  it's  like  that.  He's  seeing  ghosts.  He  wants  us  to  be 
on  hand  because  we  persuade  him  that  they're  not  there — 
that  they  can't  be  there,  so  long  as  we're  all  on  friendly 
terms,  and  that  we're  not  laying  up  anything  against  him. 
The  very  fact  that  he  pays  our  bills  makes  him  hope  that 
the  ghosts  will  keep  away." 

"We've  promised  to  go  back  with  them,"  she  informed 
her  daughter  elsewhere.  "For  one  thing,  Ena  needs  me. 
If  I  didn't  go  she'd  have  to  have  a  nurse;  and  I'd  rather 
not  leave  her  till  she's  safe  in  your  hands.  I  must  say 
I  can't  make  her  out.  She  puzzles  me  more  than  Archie 
does.  Now  that  a  week  has  gone  by  and  the  first  shock 
is  over,  she's  like  a  person  coming  out  of  a  trance.  She's 
so  sweet  and  gentle  that  it's  positively  weird.  Of  course 
she's  always  been  sweet — that's  her  style — but  not  in  this 
way.  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know  whether  she  has  a  soul 
or  not — whether  she  never  had  one,  or  whether  one  is 
being  born  in  her.  But  she's  patient,  and  you  might 
even  say  resigned.  There's  no  question  about  that. 
She's  not  a  bit  hard  to  take  care  of,  making  little  or  no 
demand,  and  just  trying  to  get  up  strength  enough  to  sail. 
She's  grieving  over  Claude;  and  yet  her  grief  has  the 
touching  quality  in  it  that  you  get  from  a  sweet  old  tune. 
I  must  say  I  don't  understand  it — not  in  her." 

It  was  when  she  was  able  to  announce  that  Mrs.  Master- 
man  was  well  enough  to  sail  that  Mrs.  Willoughby  ac- 
knowledged the  first  letters  from  her  daughter.  "We  go 
by  the  Ruritania  on  the  3rd.  Archie  is  simply  furious  at 
the  hints  you're  all  throwing  out  about  that  old  man 
Fay.  Perfectly  preposterous,  is  what  he  calls  them.  He 
seems  to  think  that,  once  he  is  on  the  spot,  he'll  be  able  to 
show  every  one  that  Fay  had  no  possible  reason  to  want 

37o 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

to  avenge  himself,  and  must  therefore  be  beyond  suspicion. 
I  must  say  Archie  doesn't  strike  me  as  vindictive,  which 
is  another  surprise,  if  one  could  ever  be  surprised  in  a 
Masterman.  They're  all  queer,  Thor  as  much  as  any  of 
them,  though  he's  queer  in  such  lovable  ways.  I  mean 
that  you  never  can  tell  what  freaks  they'll  take,  whether 
for  evil  or  for  good.  Nothing  would  astonish  me  less 
than  to  see  Archie  himself  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  one  of 
these  days,  and  I  do  believe  that  it's  the  thing  he's  afraid 
of  himself.  What  he's  fighting  in  all  this  business  about 
Fay  is  his  own  impulse  to  do  penance.  He's  thinking  of 
the  figure  he'll  cut,  wearing  a  shroud  and  carrying  a 
lighted  candle.  Of  course  it  interests  us  because — well,  be- 
cause it  may  turn  out  to  be  a  matter  of  dollars  and  cents. 
Not  that  I  count  on  it.  I've  put  all  that  behind  me,  and 
I  must  say  that  your  father  and  I  have  never  been  so 
happy  together  as  during  these  last  few  months.  We  get 
along  perfectly  on  what  we  have,  and  we  don't  lack  for 
anything.  Of  course  the  way  in  which  your  father,  the 
sweet  lamb,  is  improving  makes  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  to  me.  So  Archie  needn't  repent  on  our  account. 
We've  let  all  that  go.  It  only  strikes  me  as  funny  the 
way  he  can't  do  enough  for  us — taxis  at  the  door  the 
minute  we  put  our  noses  out — flowers  in  the  sitting-room — 
and  everything.  I  know  perfectly  well  what  it  means. 
It  isn't  us.  He's  simply  sacrificing  to  the  hoodoo  or  the 
voodoo  that  he  sees  behind  us — just  like  any  other 
Masterman." 

She  added  in  a  postscript:  "You  can  read  Thor  as 
much  or  as  little  of  my  letters  as  you  choose.  I  don't  care 
— not  a  bit!  I  told  him  before  you  were  married  that  I 
always  intended  to  speak  my  mind  about  his  father,  like 
it  or  lump  it  who  would." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  rest  of  that  year  became  to  Archie  Masterman  a 
period  of  popularity  and  triumph,  in  so  far  as  such 
terms  could  be  used  of  a  man  so  sorely  bereaved.  Noth- 
ing ever  sat  on  him  with  finer  effect  than  the  air  of  dignity, 
charity,  and  sorrow  with  which  he  returned  from  Europe, 
while  his  stand  toward  poor  old  Jasper  Fay  brought  him  a 
degree  of  sympathy  new  even  to  one  whose  personality 
had  been  sympathetic  at  all  times.  The  letter  he  wrote 
to  Eliza  Fay  when  her  husband  was  put  under  arrest,  dis- 
sociating himself  from  the  act  of  the  guardians  of  the  law 
and  protesting  his  belief  in  his  former  tenant's  innocence, 
was  conceived  in  a  spirit  so  noble  as  to  raise  the  estimate 
of  human  nature  in  the  minds  of  all  who  knew  its  con- 
tents. Whatever  the  inner  convictions  of  the  much-tried 
woman  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  the  document  was  too 
precious  to  her  husband's  cause  not  to  be  exhibited, 
though  in  the  matter  of  inner  convictions  Lois  was  obliged 
to  caution  her. 

"I  wouldn't  put  it  beyond  him,  not  a  mite,"  Mrs.  Fay 
had  confessed,  with  tragic  matter-of-fact;  "not  after  the 
way  he's  talked,  I  wouldn't,  and  Matt  don't,  either." 

"Has  your  son  said  so?" 

"He's  said  worse.  He's  said  that  if  he  didn't  do  it, 
he  ought  to  have.  That's  the  way  he  talks.  Oh,  he's  no 
comfort  to  me!  I  knew  he  wouldn't  be,  after  that  awful 
place,  but  I  didn't  look  for  him  to  be  quite  what  he  is, 
wanting  to  kill  and  blow  up  everything.  An  I.  I.  A.  is 
what  he  calls  himself,  and  the  Lord  only  knows  what  that 
is.     I  blame  myself,"  she  went  on,  with  dry,  unrelenting 

372 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE   ANGELS 

statement  of  the  case.  "I  didn't  bring  them  up  right. 
I  was  discontented — " 

"Oh,  but  there's  a  discontent  that's  divine,"  Lois  broke 
in,  consolingly. 

"Well,  this  wasn't  it.  It  was  'hateful  and  hating  one 
another,'  as  Paul  says.  I  put  it  into  their  heads — I  mean 
Fay's  and  the  children's.  Matt  'd  commit  murder  now 
as  quick  as  a  kitten  '11  lap  milk — or  he  says  he  would;  and 
as  for  Fay — " 

Lois  interrupted,  hurriedly,  "We  shouldn't  do  him  the 
injustice  of  condemning  him  in  advance,  should  we?" 

The  woman  held  herself  erect,  her  hard,  uncompromising 
eyes,  in  which  there  was  nevertheless  an  odd  suffusion  of 
softness,  looking  straight  over  her  companion's  head. 
"I  can't  help  what  I  know." 

"And  J  can't  help  what  I  know,  which  is  that  you  and 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  judgment,  still  less  with  con- 
demnation. There  are  others  to  attend  to  that,  while  we 
try  to  bring" — she  uttered  the  word  with  diffidence — 
"try  to  bring  love." 

"Oh,  love!"  The  tone  was  that  of  one  who  had  long 
ago  given  up  anything  so  illusory. 

"Then  whatever  we  can  find  that  will  take  the  place  of 
love,"  Lois  replied,  with  relief  at  getting  back  to  ground 
of  which  she  was  more  sure.     "Let  us  call  it  good  will." 

Good  will  was,  in  fact,  what  Reuben  Hilary  had  called  it, 
and  it  was  from  him  she  was  quoting.  Having  gone  to 
him  for  the  analysis  of  her  own  state  of  mind,  she  had 
been  comforted  to  learn  that  she  placed  no  impediment  in 
the  way  of  public  justice  through  being  privately  merciful. 

"The  mission  of  Christ,  me  dear  Mrs.  Thor,  was  salva- 
tion. And  what  do  we  mean  by  salvation?  Isn't  it  the 
state  of  being  saved?  And  what  do  we  want  to  be  saved 
from?  Isn't  it  from  trouble  and  evil  of  all  kinds?  And 
where  and  when  do  we  want  to  be  saved  from  them? 
Isn't  it  right  here  and  right  now  ?  And  who  are  the  people 
that  need  most  to  be  saved?    Isn't  it  those  that  are 

373 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

threatened  with  danger?  And  who  is  to  save  them? 
Isn't  it  you  and  I?    What  more  do  you  ask?" 

"So  that  when  it  comes  to  justice — " 

"Ah,  now,  I'm  not  botherin'  about  justice.  Justice  has 
her  sword  and  her  scales.  Let  her  look  after  her  own 
affairs.     What  you  and  I  are  out  after  is  good  will." 

So  Lois  got  further  light  upon  her  way  and  followed  it. 
She  followed  it  the  more  easily  because  her  father-in-law 
seemed  willing  to  follow  it,  too.  He  could  do  this  with  a 
touching  grace  since  more  fully  than  by  letter  she  as- 
sured him  that  Claude  had  come  back  to  redeem  his  word. 

"Oh,  thank  God!"  Ena  had  exclaimed,  on  hearing  this 
information  emphasized.  "The  darling  boy  was  always 
the  soul  of  honor." 

An  ethereal  vision  in  black,  she  was  having  a  cup  of  tea 
in  the  library  before  going  up-stairs  to  take  off  her  travel- 
ing-dress. Thor,  who  had  met  the  party  at  the  dock,  had 
accompanied  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  to  their  own  house, 
so  that  Lois  was  able  to  get  a  few  words  with  the  sorrowing 
parents  alone,  giving  them  in  fuller  detail  that  which  her 
letters  had  only  sketched.  She  had  assumed  the  privilege 
of  the  daughter  of  the  house  to  sit  at  the  tea-table,  while 
for  the  minute  the  returned  voyagers  took  their  place  as 
guests. 

There  were  reasons  now  why  Archie  was  able  to  echo 
his  wife's  rejoicing  in  Claude's  change  of  heart.  In  this 
new  turn  to  the  situation,  which  he  had  but  imperfectly 
seized  from  what  had  been  written,  he  could  get  the  same 
kind  of  consolation  that  a  father  draws  from  the  death  of  a 
son  in  a  war  with  which  he  has  no  sympathy.  It  was  the 
death  of  a  brave  man,  when  all  was  said  and  done.  It  was 
also  death  in  conditions  that  made  his  own  position  the 
stronger,  since  it  was  an  aid  to  the  clearing  of  his  con- 
science. It  detracted  nothing  from  his  grief  that  he  should 
use  Claude's  yearning  for  redemption  as  a  fresh  proof  that 
Jasper  Fay  had  not  even  a  shadowy  motive  for  revenge; 
and  with  the  elimination  of  Fay's  motive  for  revenge,  he, 

374 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Archie  Masterman,  was  more  amply  acquitted  at  the  bar 
before  which  the  hereditary  Masterman  impulse  sum- 
moned him.  Lois  had  the  greater  confidence,  therefore,  in 
making  her  appeals. 

"If  they  do  imprison  him,  you  see,  the  family  will  be 
left  without  means.  One  of  these  days  I  think  Rosie 
will  marry  Jim  Breen — " 

Ena  gave  a  little  cry  of  disapproval.  "What?  After 
Claude!" 

"Oh,  it  won't  be  for  a  long  time  yet;  and  while  this 
trouble  is  hanging  over  her  father  she  won't  listen  to  any 
suggestion  of  the  kind,  little  as  she  would  before.  Still — 
in  the  end — it  will  be  only  natural — "  She  left  Rosie 
there.  "And  Thor's  been  so  good  about  the  son — only — 
well,  the  I.  I.  A.,  whatever  that  is,  have  got  hold  of  him, 
so  that  we  can't  count  on  him  to  do  anything  for  the  poor 
mother,  if  she's  left  alone,  or  for  Rosie — " 

"  I'll  take  care  of  them."  It  was  probable  that  Archie 
Masterman  had  never  in  his  life  said  anything  that 
gave  him  so  complete  a  satisfaction.  Before  Lois  could 
respond  to  his  generosity  he  went  on  to  add:  "I  needn't 
appear  in  the  matter.  I'll  leave  it  to  your  ingenuity 
to  find  the  way  to  take  care  of  them  without  men- 
tioning me  at  all — unless  you  think  it  would  be  a  com- 
fort to  them,  as  a  sign  of  my  confidence  in  poor  old 
Fay.  That  I  should  like  to  have  generally  known — that 
I  absolve  him  entirely." 

By  sheer  force  of  will  Lois  refused  to  see  him  as  sacrific- 
ing to  the  hoodoo  or  the  voodoo  of  which  her  mother's 
letters  had  apprised  her.  If  she  had  nothing  to  do  with 
condemnation  in  the  case  of  Jasper  Fay,  she  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  she  reminded  herself,  in  that  of  Archie 
Masterman.  Her  part  in  life  was  to  accept  every  one  at 
his  nominal  face  value,  for  only  so  could  she  put  good  will 
into  effective  operation. 

Tea  was  over  and  they  were  on  their  feet  when  she  felt 
her   own   need   demanding   consideration.     It   was   not 

375 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

without  nervousness  that  she  said,  "You  know  Thor  has 
been  staying  here  with  Cousin  Amy  and  Uncle  Sim." 

"So  we  understood." 

"Well,  I  think  he  might  like  to  stay  a  little  longer." 

"That's  not  necessary  on  our  account,"  Masterman 
said,  promptly. 

"It  wouldn't  be  on  your  account,  but  on  his  own. 
That  is,"  she  explained,  "he  might  think  it  was  on  your 
account,  but  in  reality  to  feel  that  he  was  comforting 
you  would  be  a  comfort  to  him." 

Claude's  mother  gave  way  to  the  first  little  sob  since 
entering  the  house,  while  the  father's  face  settled  to 
the  stoniness  that  masked  his  suffering.  "Wouldn't  it 
look  very  queer?"  was  all  he  said.  "People  might  not 
understand  it." 

"Oh,  they  haven't  understood  it  as  it  is;  but  does  that 
matter?  I  know  there's  been  talk  in  the  village  during 
the  past  few  weeks,  but  surely  we're  in  a  position  to 
ignore  it."  In  the  hope  of  opening  up  the  way  for  Thor 
in  what  he  had  to  make  clear,  she  decided  to  go  further. 
While  speaking  she  kept  her  eyes  on  Masterman.  "You 
may  not  need  him,  but  he  may  need  you.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  has  still  something  to  explain  to  you  which  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  now.  On  that  night — the  night  of 
the  ninth  of  July — Thor  and  Claude  were  here  in  the 
house  together.     There  was  trouble  between  them." 

Mrs.  Masterman  gasped;  her  husband  breathed  hard, 
saying,  merely,  "Go  on." 

"I  don't  know  what  the  quarrel  was  exactly,  but — but — 
there  were  blows." 

"Not  the  blow — ?"  Masterman  began,  with  horror  in 
his  tone. 

"Oh  no,  not  that,"  Lois  interposed,  hastily,  going  on  to 
explain  briefly  the  incidents  of  the  struggle  between  the 
brothers,  as  far  as  she  knew  them.  "That  part  of  it  was 
all  over,"  she  continued,  eagerly,  before  either  of  the 
parents  could  comment  on  this  new  phase  of  the  event. 

376 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Claude  wasn't  much  hurt.  You  can  see  that  from  the 
way  he  was  able  to  get  up  and  come  out  into  the  air 
while  Thor  was  running  up  to  our  house  for  brandy.  If 
there  hadn't  been  some  one  lurking  in  the  shrubbery — " 

"He's  been  a  terrible  son  to  me,"  Masterman  broke  in, 
wrathfully.  "When  it  isn't  in  one  way  it's  in  another. 
What  have  I  done  to  deserve — ?" 

"He  is  terrible,"  Lois  admitted,  soothingly;  "but,  oh, 
Mr.  Masterman,  he's  terrible  in  such  splendid  ways! 
He  hasn't  found  himself  yet;  but  he  will  if  you'll  give  him 
time.  Whatever  he's  done  wrong  he'll  atone  for  nobly. 
You'll  see!" 

The  mother's  intervention  came  to  Lois  as  a  new  sur- 
prise. "Whatever  he's  done  wrong  he's  sorry  for.  We 
can  be  sure  of  that."  She  turned  to  her  husband.  "Archie, 
Claude  was  my  son ;  and  I  want  to  tell  you  now,  before  we 
go  any  further,  that  no  matter  what  happened  between 
Thor  and  him,  I  forgive  it,  if  there's  anything  to  for- 
give." 

"I  know  Thor  feels  there  was  something  to  forgive," 
Lois  confessed  on  her  husband's  behalf,  "whether  there 
was  or  not." 

"Then  tell  him  to  come  to  me,"  Ena  commanded,  in  a 
tone  such  as  Lois  had  never  heard  from  her. 

"  I'll  tell  him  to  go  to  you,  if  you'll  ask  him  to  stay  here 
with  you  a  little  longer." 

"I  sha'n't  ask  him;  Archie  will,  won't  you,  Archie?" 
She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  pleadingly.  "If  you  do,  it 
will  mean  that  you  and  I  are  not  trying  to  judge  our  two 
boys,  or  take  sides  between  them" — she  gave  a  little  sob — 
"now  when  it's  no  use.  They  quarreled,  as  brothers  will, 
but  they  were  fond  of  each  other,  for  all  that." 

"Thor  adored  Claude,"  Lois  said,  simply.  "I  think 
he  cared  for  him  more  than  for  any  one  in  the  world  that — 
that  I  know  of." 

Masterman  wheeled  suddenly  and  walked  away,  while 
his  wife  made  signs  to  Lois  that  they  had  won. 
25  377 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

But  it  was  in  another  frame  of  mind  that  Thor's  wife 
said  to  herself,  as  she  saw  him  coming  toward  her  along 
County  Street:  "Now  I  shall  see!     I  shall  see  if  he  will!" 

She  meant  that  now  he  might  return  to  her,  that  he 
might  return  as  a  matter  of  course.  If  he  came  of  his 
own  accord,  something  within  her  would  leap  to  greet  him. 
So  much  she  knew;  but  beyond  it  she  would  not  trust 
herself  to  go.  "I  shall  see  if  he  will!"  she  repeated,  with 
emphasis,  throwing  the  responsibility  of  taking  the  first 
step  on  him.  It  was  on  him,  she  felt,  that  it  lay.  She 
had  asked  him  to  leave  her  until  she  was  prepared  to 
call  him  back,  and  she  was  not  prepared.  If  he  were  to 
ask  to  be  taken  back,  her  attitude  could  lawfully  be  dif- 
ferent. Since  it  was  he  who  had  made  void  the  union 
she  had  supposed  to  be  based  on  love,  it  was  for  him  to 
suggest  another  built  on  whatever  they  could  find  as  a 
substitute.  Great  as  her  pity  for  him  was,  she  could  not 
by  so  much  as  a  glance  or  a  smile  relieve  him  from  that 
necessity. 

As  they  drew  near  each  other  she  recognized  the  minute 
as  one  that  would  be  decisive,  if  not  for  the  rest  of  life, 
yet  for  a  long  time  to  come.  She  could  look  ahead  and 
select  the  very  tree  under  which  they  would  meet.  As  a 
result  of  the  few  words  that  would  be  then  exchanged 
their  lives  would  blend  again — or  he  would  go  to  the  one 
house  and  she  to  the  other,  and  they  would  be  further 
apart  than  they  had  ever  been  before.  He  might  not 
think  it  or  see  it,  because  men  were  so  dense;  but  she 
would  be  as  quick  to  read  the  signs  of  which  he  would 
remain  unconscious  as  a  bird  to  scent  a  storm. 

For  this  very  reason  she  reduced  her  manner,  when 
they  came  face  to  face,  to.  the  simplest  and  most  casual. 
It  was  a  matter  of  pride  with  her  to  exert  no  influence,  to 
leave  him  free.  Not  that  she  found  it  necessary  to  take 
pains,  for  she  saw  from  the  first  minutes  of  encounter  that 
his  mind  was  far  away  from  that  part  of  their  interests 
which  she  put  first.     Into  her  comments  on  the  wonderful 

378 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

courage  displayed  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Masterman  he  broke, 
abruptly: 

"They've  arrested  Fay." 

What  came  next  was  as  nearly  of  the  nature  of  a  vow  as 
a  man  could  venture  on  without  melodramatic  eloquence. 
All  his  energies,  all  his  money,  all  his  time,  were  to  be 
dedicated  to  securing  Fay's  acquittal.  For  Claude's 
death  one  man,  and  one  man  only,  was  to  blame.  It  was 
probable  enough  that  Fay  had  actually  struck  the  blow; 
it  was  probable,  too,  that  he  had  done  it  not  to  avenge 
himself  primarily  on  Claude,  but  on  Claude's  father.  To 
Thor  that  was  secondary,  almost  of  no  importance. 
Had  he  not  allowed  himself  to  become  a  prey  to  whatever 
was  most  ferocious  and  malignant  in  human  nature,  the 
crime  would  never  have  been  committed.  Granting  that 
Fay  would  have  lain  in  wait  for  Claude  in  any  case,  an 
agile  young  man  would  have  been  more  than  a  match 
for  so  enfeebled  an  antagonist  even  when  armed  with  a 
knife,  had  not  some  preceding  struggle  exhausted  him. 

To  Thor  it  was  so  clear  that  he  was  beyond  the  reach 
of  argument.  He  was  likewise  beyond  the  reach  of  any- 
thing that  could  be  called  a  purpose  or  a  wish  but  that  of 
seeing  that  another  man  shouldn't  suffer  in  his  stead. 
From  the  region  into  which  this  absorption  and  conse- 
cration carried  him  Lois  found  herself  and  her  claims  on 
him  thrust  out.  Whether  he  went  back  to  her  or  whether 
he  did  not  was,  for  the  time  being  at  any  rate,  of  so  little 
moment  in  his  eyes  that  apparently  no  thought  of  this 
aspect  of  their  situation  had  occurred  to  him.  It  was 
more  stinging  to  her  pride  that  he  should  not  consider  it 
than  that  he  should  consider  it  and  refuse.  She  was 
fully  aware  that  her  irony  was  thrown  away  when  she 
said,  in  a  tone  kept  down  to  the  matter-of-fact  and 
colloquial : 

"And,  Thor  dear,  if  they  ask  you  to  stay  on  at  the  other 
house,  don't  think  of  me.  I've  got  papa  and  mamma 
again.     They'll  keep  me  company  as  long  as" — she  was 

379 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

obliged  to  think  of  an  expression  that  would  imply  a  term 
— "as  long  as  I  may  need  them." 

In  response  to  these  words  he  merely  nodded.  "Very 
well."  The  assent  was  given  as  if,  whatever  the  arrange- 
ment, it  would  be  a  matter  of  indifference  to  them  both. 

So  he  went  his  way  and  she  went  hers.  Monstrous  as  it 
was,  monstrous  as  she  found  him,  as  she  found  herself, 
she  could  hardly  conceive  of  their  doing  anything  else. 
If  she  was  unhappy,  her  unhappiness  lay  too  deep  in 
subliminal  abysses  to  struggle  to  the  surface  of  her  con- 
sciousness. That  he  should  go  to  the  one  house  and  she 
to  the  other  was  as  right  as  it  had  been  ten  years  before. 
It  was  so  right  that  she  was  stupefied  by  its  lightness . 
It  was  so  right  that  the  lightness  acted  on  her  like  an 
opiate.  It  was  a  minute  in  which  sheer  helplessness 
might  have  relaxed  her  hold  on  her  substitute  for  love 
had  she  not  had  such  pressing  need  to  make  use  of  it  there 
and  then. 

She  made  use  of  it  as,  on  occasions  requiring  a  show  of 
lavishness,  people  eke  out  a  meager  supply  of  silver  with 
plenty  of  plausible  electroplate.  In  installing  her  parents 
in  their  old  rooms,  in  bidding  them  take  their  place  as 
masters  and  forget  that  they  were  guests,  she  simulated 
the  pleasure  not  only  of  a  happy  daughter  but  of  a  happy 
wife.  While  the  circumstances  of  the  home-coming 
tempered  anything  in  the  nature  of  exuberance,  they 
couldn't  forbid  all  joy,  and  of  joy  of  just  the  right  sparkle 
she  was  as  prodigal  as  if  her  treasure-chest  had  been 
stocked  with  it.  Moreover,  she  was  sure  that  except 
for  the  protest,  "If  we  take  these  rooms,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  Thor?"  the  worthy  couple  didn't  know 
the  difference  between  what  she  placed  before  them  and 
the  sterling  metal  with  the  hall-mark. 

If  there  was  a  suspicion  in  her  mother's  mind  it  reserved 
itself  till,  on  kissing  them  good  night,  Lois  fled  to  the  room 
she  had  occupied  as  a  girl.  Though  she  closed  the  door 
behind  her,  the  mother  pushed  it  open.     "Look  here, 

380 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE   ANGELS 

Lois,"  Bessie  said,  not  quite  with  anxiety  and  yet  not 
quite  without  it,  "there's  nothing  between  you  and  Thor, 
is  there?" 

Lois  felt  that  the  form  of  the  question  saved  her.  It 
enabled  her  to  answer  so  much  more  truthfully  than  her 
mother  knew.  "No,  mamma  dear;  there's  nothing  at  all 
between  us."  She  went  so  far  as  to  make  the  declaration 
emphatic  and  indulge  in  a  tone  of  faint  bitterness:  ''Ab- 
solutely nothing  at  all — and  I  doubt  if  there  ever  will  be — 
now." 

Though  the  mother  retired  before  she  could  catch  the 
concluding  syllable,  Lois  regretted  the  bitterness  as  soon 
as  she  felt  it  escape  her.  There  was  no  bitterness  in  her 
substitute  for  love,  for  the  substitute  for  love  was  .  .  . 
She  had  always  admitted  that  she  didn't  know  what  it 
was.  But  there  came  back  to  her  mind  the  words  she  had 
been  acting  upon  for  a  fortnight  and  more:  "The  mission 
of  Christ,  me  dear  Mrs.  Thor,  was  salvation."  And  there 
was  no  bitterness  in  that. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

"  "CUNNY  thing  the  way  people  talk  about  salvation," 
1     Uncle  Sim  observed  to  Lois,  on  an  evening  in  the 
autumn  when  his  legs  were  extended  before  her  fire. 
"To  hear  'em  you'd  think  there  was  no  salvation  except 
for  sin,  and  none  even  for  that  but  what  is  post-mortem. 
Post-mortem  salvation  may  be  all  very  well,  but  if  there's 
anything  blessed  I  want  it  right  now." 
"Of  course,  with  a  good  man  like  you — " 
"Good?     Good's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it — or  not 
much.     The  man  who  is  called  the  Saviour,  above  every 
one  else,  didn't  wait  for  people  to  be  good  before  He  saved 
them.     He  saved  them  first  and  said  'Sin  no  more'  to 
*.hem  afterward." 

"Oh,  but  with  His  extraordinary  means — " 
"He  had  no  means  that  you  haven't  got  yourself — in 
essence.  Difference  between  you  and  Him  is  not  in  kind, 
but  in  degree.  If  He  could  save  all  men,  you  and  I  can 
at  least  save  one  or  two  or  a  dozen — or  do  something 
toward  it." 

"You  mean  save  them  here." 

"Saving  'em  here  is  saving  'em  anywhere,  isn't  it?" 
"And  you  don't  mean  saving  them  only  in  the  theo- 
logical sense  of  saving  their  souls — " 

"  Mean  saving  'em  anyhow.  Save  a  man  from  hanging, 
or  a  child  from  tumbling  in  the  mud,  or  an  old  woman 
from  having  her  best  bonnet  spoiled  by  rain — it's  all 
salvation — it  all  meets  the  human  need — it's  all  part  of 
the  same  principle — it  all  works  to  the  same  end." 
"And  what  is  the  end?" 

382 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"The  same  as  the  middle,  and  the  same  as  the  beginning, 
and  the  same  as  it  is  all  through."  He  rose  and  stretched 
himself.  "I  leave  you  to  find  your  own  name  for  it. 
I  call  it  by  a  word  of  four  letters,"  he  laughed,  "and  it 
begins  with  an  I.  You  can't  have  too  much  of  it,  if  you 
know  what  it  is — which  is  just  what  many  people  don't 
know." 

She  stood  before  him,  coloring,  smiling  a  little,  but 
with  eyes  lowered.  "I  wonder  if  I  know  what  it  is, 
Uncle  Sim?" 

"If  you  don't,"  he  smiled  down  at  her,  "you're  taking 
a  good  way  to  learn." 

This  view  of  the  principle  she  was  using  as  a  guide 
was  not  new  to  her;  it  was  only  illuminating  and  corrob- 
orative. It  was  spectrum  analysis  where  she  had  seen  a 
star.  It  was  the  kingdom  of  heaven  reduced  from  a  noble 
phrase  to  such  terms  of  simple,  kindly  living  as  she  knew 
herself  able  to  fulfil.  It  was  the  ideal  become  practical, 
and  the  present  rendered  one  with  the  eternal,  with  the 
fruits  of  righteousness  sown  in  peace  of  them  that  make 
peace  beyond  anything  she  had  ever  expected.  On  the 
winter  afternoon  when  Jasper  Fay  was  acquitted  she 
could  look  back  over  the  preceding  seven  or  eight  months 
and  see  how  relatively  easy  all  had  been.  She  said 
relatively  easy  for  the  reason  that  much  had  of  necessity 
been  hard.  The  distinction  she  made  was  that  what  had 
been  hard  would  have  been  overwhelming  had  she  not 
taken  the  principle  of  immediate  salvation,  where  it 
could  be  brought  about,  as  law.  By  meeting  each 
minute's  need  with  the  utmost  of  her  strength  she  found 
the  next  minute's  need  less  terrible.  By  allowing  no  one 
to  suffer  a  shade  more,  or  an  instant  longer,  than  she 
could  help,  she  perceived  a  lessening  of  the  strain  all  round. 
With  the  lessening  of  the  strain  it  was  easier  to  calm 
passions  and  disarm  antipathies.  If  she  could  say  nothing 
else  for  her  substitute  for  love,  she  was  obliged  to  admit 
that  it  worked. 

383 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  was  thinking  so  with  a  great  thankfulness  when 
Thor  came  to  tell  her  of  the  rendering  of  the  verdict. 
Though  he  had  telephoned  the  fact,  he  was  eager  to  give 
her  the  details  face  to  face.  He  did  this  while  they  stood 
in  the  tapestried  square  hall,  avoiding  each  other's  eyes. 

It  had  not  been  picturesque,  he  explained  to  her; 
but  it  had  been  satisfactory.  Though  an  hour  had  suf- 
ficed the  jury  to  reach  their  decision,  the  farmers  and 
market-gardeners  who  had  formed  the  mass  of  the 
spectators  had  forestalled  it  and  scattered  to  their  homes. 
The  dramatic  interest  was  over;  it  was  generally  felt  that 
no  more  than  a  formality  remained.  When  for  the  last 
time  Jasper  Fay  was  led  in  to  confront  his  peers  it  was 
before  a  comparatively  empty  court. 

Because  he  had  suddenly  become  self-conscious,  Thor 
went  on  with  his  account  stammeringly  and  with  curious 
hesitations.  Still  wearing  his  fur  motoring-coat,  he  held 
his  cap  in  his  hand,  like  a  man  in  a  hurry  to  get  away. 

"I  couldn't  see  even  then — at  the  very  end — that  the 
old  fellow  knew  what  it  was  all  about.  He  looked  round 
him  with  the  same  glassy  stare  that  he's  had  ever  since — 
ever  since  that  morning  when  we  gave  him  the  coffee. 
Mind  all  gone,  poor  old  chap — and  perhaps  it's  just  as 
well.  He  smiled  a  bit  when  it  was  all  over  and  they  pushed 
him  from  one  group  to  another  to  shake  his  hand,  but  he 
didn't  realize  what  he  had  escaped." 

Lois,  too,  was  self-conscious.  In  this  lifting  of  the 
burden  from  Thor's  mind  something  had  changed  in  their 
mutual  relation.  It  was  as  if  a  faculty  arrested  on  the 
night  Claude  died  had  suddenly  resumed  its  function, 
taking  them  by  surprise.  Not  in  this  way  had  she 
expected  the  thing  that  seemed  dead  to  come  to  life  again, 
so  that  she  was  unprepared  for  the  signs  of  its  rebirth. 
Absorbed  as  she  would  otherwise  have  been  in  Thor's 
narration,  she  could  now  follow  him  but  absently.  "  How 
did  they  get  home  from  Colcord?" 

She  asked  the  question  to  keep  him  going,  lest  he  should 

384 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

say  the  thing  she  was  so  strangely  afraid  to  hear.  He 
answered  like  a  man  who  talks  about  what  isn't  on  his 
mind  in  order  to  conceal  what  is.  "I  drove  them  in. 
The  old  fellow  sat  in  the  tonneau  with  Rosie  and  Jim 
Breen.  Matt  Fay  refused  the  lift  and  took  the  train  to 
Marchfield." 

A  little  crowd  at  the  court-house  door,  he  recounted 
further,  had  called,  "Three  cheers  for  Dr.  Thor!"  An- 
other little  crowd  had  greeted  them  with  a  similar  welcome 
on  their  arrival  in  Susan  Street.  A  third  had  gathered 
in  the  grounds  of  Thor's  father's  house,  shouting,  "Three 
cheers  for  Mr.  Masterman!"  till  the  object  of  this  good 
will  responded  by  coming  out  to  the  porch  and  making  a 
brief,  kindly  speech.  He  was  delivering  it  as  Thor  drove 
up,  just  as  the  winter  twilight  necessitated  the  turning  on 
of  the  electric  lights — his  slender,  well-dressed  figure  dis- 
tinct in  the  illuminated  doorway.  Thor  could  hear  the 
strains  of  "For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow"  as,  to  avoid 
further  demonstration,  he  backed  his  machine  from  the 
avenue  and  turned  toward  the  other  house. 

She  seized  the  opportunity  to  say  something  she  had 
at  heart,  which  would  also  help  to  tide  over  a  minute  she 
found  so  embarrassing.  "Oh,  Thor,  I  hope  he'll  not 
have  to  suffer  any  more.  He's  paid  his  penalty  by  this 
time." 

"You  mean — " 

"I  mean  that  I  hope  he'll  never  have  to  be  any  more 
definite  with  himself  than  he's  been  already.  You  can 
easily  see  how  it  is  with  him.  It's  as  if  he  was  two  men, 
one  accusing  and  the  other  defending.  I  don't  want  to 
have  the  defense  break  down  altogether,  or  to  see  him 
driven  to  the  wall.     I  couldn't  bear  it." 

He  waited  a  long  minute  before  speaking.  "If  you're 
thinking  of  the  real  responsibility  for  Claude's  death — " 

She  nodded.     "Yes,  I  am." 

Again  he  waited.     "  He  puts  that  on  me." 

"He  puts  it  on  you  so  as  not  to  take  it  on  himself," 

385 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

she  said,  quickly,  "because  to  take  it  on  himself  would  be 
beyond  human  nature  to  bear.  Don't  you  see,  Thor? 
We  know  and  he  knows  that  if  Jasper  Fay  did  it,  it  was 
not  to  avenge  himself  on  Claude,  but  on  some  one  else. 
But  now  that  the  law  says  that  Fay  didn't  do  it — " 

He  interrupted,  quietly:  "I've  talked  it  out  with 
father,  and  we  understand  each  other  perfectly.  You 
needn't  be  afraid  on  his  account.  I've  taken  everything 
on  myself — as  I  ought  to  take  it." 

"Oh,  Thor!" 

"The  only  thing  that  matters  about  the  law  is  that 
it  shouldn't  condemn  any  one  but  me.  Now  that  that 
danger  is  out  of  the  way,  I  can — begin." 

She  forgot  her  embarrassment  in  looking  up  at  him 
with  streaming  eyes.     "Begin  how,  Thor?" 

"Begin  doing  what  you  told  me  from  the  first — begin 
to  start  ■  again — to  get  it  under  my  feet — to  stand  on  it — 
to  be  that  much  higher  up — and  not  be" — he  fumbled 
with  his  cap,  his  head  hung  guiltily — "not  be  ridden  by 
remorse — any  more  than — than  I  can  help." 

"You'll  do  it,  Thor;  you'll  do  it  nobly—" 

What  she  had  to  say,  however,  got  no  further,  for  the 
front  door  was  flung  open  to  allow  of  Mrs.  Willoughby's 
excited  entrance,  with  Len  puffing  heavily  behind  her. 

"Oh,  so  you're  here,  Thor!"  Bessie  cried  in  the  tone  of 
a  woman  at  the  limit  of  her  strength.  "Well,  I'm  glad. 
You  may  as  well  know  it  first  as  last."  Breathless,  she 
dropped  into  one  of  the  hall  chairs,  endeavoring  to  get 
air  by  agitating  an  enormous  pillow-muff.  "Len's  been 
having —  No,  it's  too  extraordinary! — and  I  predicted  it, 
didn't  I?  If  you've  kept  my  letters  you've  got  it  down 
in  black  and  white!  Len's  been  having —  It's  just  as  I 
said! — it's  the  shroud  and  the  lighted  candle!  Len's 
been  having  the  strangest,  the  very  strangest,  talk  with 
Archie." 

Lois  crept  near  to  her  mother,  bending  down  toward 
her.     "But,  mother  dear,  what  about?" 

386 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

Bessie  answered,  wildly :  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  about. 
I  wasn't  there.  I  was  in  the  drawing-room  with  Ena.  I 
knew  something  was  going  on,  from  Ena's  manner. 
What's  come  over  Ena  I  can't  imagine.  I've  heard  of 
trial  turning  human  beings  into  angels,  but  I  never 
believed  it  and  I  can  hardly  believe  it  now.  Archie  began 
it  himself — I  mean  with  your  father.  He  beckoned  him 
into  the  library  in  the  solemnest  way.  That  was  after  he 
had  finished  his  speech  and  the  crowd  had  stopped  cheer- 
ing. If  it  is  the  shroud  and  the  taper — well,  all  I  can  say 
is  that  he  carries  them  off  just  in  the  way  you  would  ex- 
pect.    No  one  could  do  it  better,  as  far  as  that  goes." 

"As  far  as  what  goes,  mother?     I  wish  you'd  tell  us." 

"  It's  exactly  what  I  said  when  I  wrote  you  from  London 
last  year.  If  you've  kept  my  letters  you've  got  it  all 
down  in  black  and  white.  He  wants  us,  and  Ena  wants 
us,  all  to  come  to  dinner.  I'm  not  a  bit  surprised — not  a 
bit — though  I  never  counted  on  it — never!" 

Thor  also  bent  over  her,  standing  before  her,  with  his 
hand  stretched  out  to  the  back  of  her  chair.  "  Is  it  about 
money,  Mrs.  Willoughby?" 

But  she  was  too  far  beyond  coherence  to  explain. 
"  He  says  he  wants  to  talk  to  us  both  after  dinner — to  Len 
and  me.  He's  been  going  over  the  accounts  again  and  he 
finds — he  finds — "  But  she  beat  with  her  high  heels  on 
the  floor  and  buried  her  face  in  her  muff.  "  Oh,  tell  them, 
Len! — for  goodness'  sake,  tell  them!  They'll  never  be- 
lieve it — not  any  more  than  me." 

But  her  emotion  was  too  much  for  the  big  man's 
shattered  nerves.  As  he  stood  just  within  the  doorway, 
looking  with  his  snowy  beard  and  bushy  white  hair  like 
some  spectral,  aureoled  apostle,  he  began  to  cry. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THOR  and  Lois  were  glad  of  this  interruption.  They 
were  glad  of  the  new  and  exciting  topic.  They 
were  glad  of  the  family  dinner  at  the  other  house,  where 
they  could  be  together  and  yet  apart.  Taking  refuge 
from  each  other  in  any  society  they  could  find,  they  kept 
close  to  Mrs.  Masterman  when,  after  dinner,  Thor's 
father  retained  his  two  old  friends  in  the  dining-room  for 
the  promised  explanations.  Later  in  the  evening  it  was 
with  an  emotion  like  alarm  that  Lois  heard  that  her 
parents  had  gone  home  without  waiting  to  bear  her  com- 
pany. Secretly  she  began  to  plan  methods  for  stealing 
away  alone.  Her  shyness  of  Thor  was  like  nothing  she 
had  known  in  the  days  of  courtship  and  marriage,  or 
during  the  months  in  which  they  had  been  holding  off 
from  each  other  for  scrutiny  and  reflection. 

It  was  a  shyness  which,  when  they  were  at  last  side  by 
side  in  the  avenue,  drove  her  to  affect  an  over-elaboration 
of  ease.  She  talked,  not  merely  because  there  were  so 
many  things  to  say,  but  also  for  the  sake  of  talking. 
She  talked  because  he  did  not,  because  he  towered  above 
her  in  the  moonlight,  dumb,  mysterious,  waiting.  It 
was  that  sense  of  his  waiting  that  thrilled  and  terrified  her 
most.  It  was  a  large  waiting,  patient  and  deep,  the 
waiting  for  something  predestined  and  inevitable  that 
could  take  its  time.  It  was  like  the  waiting  of  the  ocean 
for  the  streams,  of  sleep  for  the  day's  activities,  or  of 
death  for  all.  It  seemed  to  brood  over  her  like  the 
violet  sky,  and  to  quiver  with  radiance  as  the  crisp  air 
quivered  with  the  moonlight.     It  was  wide  and  restful 

388 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

and  bracing.     She  was  walking  toward  it,  she  was  walking 
into  it,  as  she  walked  over  this  virginal  carpet  of  snow. 

She  talked  with  a  kind  of  desperation — of  Thor's  father 
and  mother  first  of  all,  of  how  good  they  were,  each  with 
a  special  variety  of  goodness.  It  was  wonderful  what 
sorrow  had  done  for  Mrs.  Masterman.  "I  never  see  her 
now,  Thor  dear,  without  thinking  of  that  look  in  Claude's 
face  that  seemed  to  us  like  dawn.  I  see  it  in  her.  Don't 
you?"  Without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  hurried  on. 
"And  your  father,  Thor.  He  is  good.  No  one  but  a 
good  man  could  have  been  so  noble  toward  poor  old  Fay, 
when  he  knows — when  every  one  knows — no  matter  what 
was  proved  or  wasn't  proved  in  court — when  he  knows 
the  truth."  She  seemed  to  be  answering  some  unspoken 
argument  on  his  side  as  she  continued:  "Oh  yes,  I  re- 
member what  mamma  wrote  about  it — about  the  hoodoo 
or  the  voodoo — mamma's  so  amusing! — but  you  and  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  that,  have  we,  Thor?  We  can 
only  take  what  we  see,  and  judge  by  what  is  best.  And  so 
with  this  wonderful  new  thing  for  papa  and  mamma — 
that  they're  to  have  some  of  their  money  back — we  can't 
go  behind  it,  can  we?  If  he  says  it  was  a  mistake  we 
must  accept  it  as  that,  and  never,  never  let  any  other 
thought  come  into  our  minds.  I  know  that  papa  and 
mamma,  dear,  innocent  things — they  are  dear  and  inno- 
cent, you  know,  in  spite  of  everything! — I  know  they'll 
only  be  too  glad  to  take  it  in  the  same  way." 

Except  for  an  occasional  word  he  had  hardly  spoken 
by  the  time  he  had  reached  the  corner  of  Willoughby's 
Lane  and  County  Street.  Lois  had  a  renewal  of  the 
terror  from  which  her  own  conversation  had  distracted 
her.  The  crucial  minute  was  at  hand.  The  door  was 
but  a  few  yards  away.  He  would  either  go  in  with  her —  , 
or  he  would  go  back.  She  hardly  knew  which  would  be 
the  more  supportable — the  joy  or  the  dismay. 

She  caught  at  the  first  possibility  of  postponing  both. 
"Oh,  it's  so  lovely!    Let  us  walk  on  a  little  farther.     It 

389 


THE    SIDE    OF   THE    ANGELS 

isn't  half -past  nine  yet.  I  looked  at  the  clock  as  we  were 
coming  out.  Papa  and  mamma  ran  off  so  early.  Don't 
you  adore  these  windless  winter  nights? — when  the  air  is 
as  if  it  had  been  distilled."  She  paused  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  and  looked  around.  "What's  that  star,  Thor — 
over  there — the  one  like  a  great  white  diamond?"  He 
told  her  it  was  Sirius,  adding  that  its  light  took  eight 
years  to  travel  to  the  earth,  and  going  on  to  trace  with 
his  finger  the  constellation  of  the  Dog.  The  minute's 
return  to  the  old  habits  took  some  of  the  feverishness 
from  her  sense  of  tension  as  they  continued  their  walk 
up  the  hill. 

Up  the  hill  there  were  only  two  directions  in  which  to 
go — along  the  prosaic  road  to  Marchfield  or  into  the  quiet 
winter  woods  where  masses  of  shadow  lay  interspersed 
with  patches  of  white  moonlight,  while,  on  this  soundless 
night  there  was  not  a  murmur  in  the  tree-tops.  By  in- 
stinct rather  than  intention  they  followed  a  faint,  fa- 
miliar path  running  under  pines. 

Lois  was  now  speaking  of  the  Fays.  "Mrs.  Fay 
knows.  The  others  don't — not  certainly.  Rosie  has 
brought  herself  round  to  thinking  him  innocent,  and 
Matt  and  Jim  only  suspect  what  happened — but  Mrs. 
Fay  knows.  It  must  be  a  tragic  thing  to  spend  your  life 
with  a  man  who's  done  a  thing  like  that.  Poor  soul! 
We  must  do  what  we  can  to  help  her,  mustn't  we?" 

She  pursued  the  theme  not  for  its  interest  alone,  but 
for  the  sake  of  the  objective  point  to  which  it  was  leading 
her.  By  speaking  freely,  first  of  Matt  and  then  of  Jim 
Breen,  she  came  at  last  to  Rosie.  She  spoke  freely  of 
her,  too,  at  the  risk  of  opening  up  old  wounds,  at  the  risk 
of  lacerating  that  which  was  probably  still  sensitive. 
Her  main  purpose  was  to  speak,  and  if  possible  to  make 
him  speak,  so  that  this  name  should  no  longer  be  kept 
as  an  inviolable  symbol  between  them.  Since  the  day 
when  it  began  to  have  significance  for  them  both  it  had 
scarcely  been  pronounced  by  either  otherwise  than  al- 

39o 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

lusively  or  of  necessity.  She  was  resolute  to  make  it  as 
little  to  be  shunned  as  his  or  her  own. 

Not  that  she  was  successful,  for  the  minute  at  any  rate. 
His  responses  continued  to  be  brief,  so  brief  that  they 
were  hardly  responses  at  all.  They  were  not  grudged  or 
ungracious;  they  were  only  like  those  first  little  flashes 
of  lightning  which  hint  that  the  heavens  will  soon  be 
alive.  As  a  frightened  boy  whistles  from  bravado,  she 
talked  to  conceal  her  trembling  at  this  coming  of  celestial 
wonders. 

"Oh,  Thor,  there'll  be  so  much  now  to  do!  It's  really 
only  beginning,  isn't  it?  And  it  brings  in  so  many 
elements  of  our  life — I  mean  of  our  whole  national  life. 
I  like  that.  I  like  getting  out  of  our  own  little  groove — 
so  futile  and  narrow  as  it  generally  is — and  being  in  touch 
with  what  is  stronger,  even  if  it's  terrific.  That's  what 
I  feel  about  Matt  Fay — that  he's  terrific.  He  represents 
a  terrific  movement,  doesn't  he?  and  one  we  can't  ignore. 
When  I  say  terrific  I  don't  mean  that  I'm  afraid  of  it. 
I'm  not.  It  seems  to  me  too  strengthening  to  be  afraid 
of.  With  all  you  can  say  against  it,  it  strikes  me  as  a 
tonic  in  our  rather  flaccid  life,  like  iron  in  the  blood.  I've 
sympathy  with  it,  too,  to  some  extent;  I've  sympathy 
with  him.  You  know,  I  do  belong  to  the  people.  I'm 
glad  we  know  him,  and  that  in  a  way  we've  a  right  to  get 
near  to  him.  It  puts  us  in  touch  with  our  own  national 
realities  as  perhaps  otherwise  we  shouldn't  be.  Oh,  Thor, 
there's  so  much  to  work  out!  Isn't  it  a  splendid  thing 
that  we  can  help  even  to  the  slightest  degree  in  doing  it!" 

To  this  there  was  no  response  whatever.  She  was  not 
sure  that  he  listened.  Beside  her  the  tall  form  strode  on 
dumb  and  dark,  crunching  the  frozen  snow  with  a  creaking 
sound  that  roused  the  winged  and  furry  things  of  the  wood 
and  silenced  her  half-hysterical  efforts  to  fight  against 
that  which  awaited  her  like  a  glory  or  a  doom.  Growing 
suddenly  aware  of  the  uselessness  of  speaking,  she  said  no 
more. 

39i 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

After  an  interval  in  which  her  mind  seemed  to  stop 
working,  that  of  which  she  became  conscious  next  was  a 
world  of  extraordinary  purity.  Nothing  was  ever  so 
white  as  this  snow  or  this  moonlight;  nothing  was  ever 
so  like  the  ether  beyond  the  atmosphere  as  this  air;  noth- 
ing was  ever  so  golden  as  the  stars  in  this  purple  sky, 
or  so  mystically  solemn  as  these  pines.  As  they  climbed 
upward  it  was  like  mounting  into  some  crystal  sphere, 
where  evil  was  not  an  element. 

They  came  out  on  that  spot  in  which  all  the  wood- 
paths  converged,  that  treeless  ridge  that  rose  like  a  great 
white  altar.  It  was  an  end  which  neither  had  foreseen 
when  a  half -hour  earlier  they  had  prolonged  their  walk; 
otherwise  they  might  have  shrunk  from  it.  As  it  was,  the 
association  of  the  past  with  the  present  startled  them, 
startled  them  into  pausing  long  enough  to  become  con- 
scious, to  seeing  each  in  the  eyes  of  the  other  such  things 
as  could  not  pass  into  words,  before  renewing  the  ascent. 
As  they  continued  the  way  upward  it  was  as  if  in  fulfil- 
ment of  some  symbolic  ceremonial. 

They  had  stood  for  some  minutes  silent  on  the  summit, 
looking  out  over  the  wide,  white  radiance  at  their  feet, 
when  Thor  spoke.  "I'm  not  thinking  about  the  things 
you've  been  talking  of.  I'm  not  primarily  interested  in 
them  anymore." 

"You  mean—?" 

"I  mean  the  helping  of  others — in  the  way  I've  tried  it. 
I  see  the  mistake  in  that." 

She  was  faintly  surprised.     "Indeed?" 

"Through  the  things  that  have  been  happening  I've 
worked  out — I  may  say  I've  stumbled  out— to  a  great 
truth." 

There  was  not  only  surprise  in  her  tone,  but  curiosity. 
"Yes,  Thor  dear.     What  is  it?" 

"It's  that  a  man's  first  occupation  is  not  with  others, 
but  with  himself.  It's  not  to  put  them  right;  it's  to 
be  right  on  his  own  account."      As   for   the   moment 

392 


THE    SIDE   OF   THE    ANGELS 

she  was  too  disconcerted  to  comment  on  this,  he  con- 
tinued: "If  reaching  this  conclusion  seems  to  you  like 
discovering  the  obvious,  I  can  only  say  that  it  hasn't 
been  obvious  to  me.  It's  just  beginning  to  come  to 
me  that  I  was  so  busy  casting  out  other  people's  devils 
that  I'd  forgotten  all  about  my  own." 

"You've  been  so  generous  in  all  you've  thought  about 
other  people,  Thor — " 

He  interrupted  with  decision.  "The  most  effective 
way  in  which  to  be  generous  to  other  people  is  to  be 
strict  with  one's  self;  but  it  never  occurred  to  me  till 
lately.  I've  been  so  eager  that  my  neighbor's  garden 
should  be  trim  and  productive,  that  mine  has  been  over- 
run with  weeds." 

Against  this  self-condemnation  she  felt  it  her  duty  to 
protest.  "But  Uncle  Sim  says  you've  always  been  on  the 
side  of  the — " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  broke  in,  with  what  was  nearly  a 
laugh.  "But  it's  just  where  the  dear  old  fellow  has  been 
wrong  about  me.  I've  wanted  every  one  else  to  be 
there,  on  the  side  of  the  good  things — I  admit  that — 
but  I  was  to  have  plenty  of  rope.  Now  I'm  coming  to 
understand — and  it's  taken  all  this  trouble  to  drive  it 
home  to  my  stupidity — that  if  I  want  to  see  any  one  else 
on  the  side  of  the  angels  I  must  get  there  first.  That's 
where  the  ax  must  go  to  the  root  of  the  tree.  In  the  main 
other  people  will  take  care  of  themselves  if  I  take  care  of 
mysell — and  I'm  going  to  try." 

She  was  hurt  on  his  behalf.  "Oh,  Thor,  please  don't 
say  such  things  when  you're  so — so  noble." 

"I'm  only  saying  them,  Lois,  to  show  you  that  I  see 
what's  been  wrong  with  me  from  the  start.  You've  tried 
to  say  it  yourself  at  times,  only  I  couldn't  take  it  in. 
Do  you  remember  the  day  in  my  office  when  you  came 
to  tell  me  that" — he  nerved  himself  to  approach  the 
subject  with  the  simple  directness  he  knew  she  desired — 
"that  Rosiehad— ?" 

26  393 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

She  hastened  to  come  to  his  aid.  "Yes,  but  I  didn't 
mean  it  in  just  that  way." 

"No;  but  I  do.  I  mean  it  because  I  can  look  back  and 
trace  it  as  the  cause  of  all  our  disasters  from — " 

"Oh,  Thor!"  she  pleaded. 

He  went  on,  steadily:  " From  the  way  in  which  I  asked 
you  to  marry  me  right  up  to  what — to  what  happened 
about  Claude."  He  was  obliged  to  draw  a  long,  hard 
breath  before  saying  more.  "I  was  so  determined  that 
every  one  else  should  be  right  that  I  didn't  care  how 
wrong  I  was — which  is  like  handing  out  water  from  a 
poisoned  well." 

She  wished  she  could  touch  him,  or  slip  her  hand  into 
his,  by  way  of  comfort,  but  the  distance  between  them 
was  still  too  great.  She  could  only  say:  "That's  putting 
it  unjustly  to  yourself,  Thor.  If  you've  made  mistakes 
they've  been  splendid  ones.  They've  been  finer  than  the 
ways  in  which  most  of  us  have  been  right." 

She  thought  he  smiled. 

"Oh,  I  don't  ask  to  be  defended  or  explained.  I  only 
want  to  say  that  from  to-night  onward  I  shall  be  starting 
on  a  new  plan  of  life.  I  shall  be  working  from  the  inside, 
and  not  from  the  outside.  If  I'm  to  do  anything  in  this 
world,  something  must  first  be  accomplished  in  me — and 
I've  got  to  begin."  He  turned  from  his  contemplation 
of  the  dim,  white  landscape  to  look  down  at  her.  "Will 
you  help  me?    Will  you  show  me  how?" 

It  seemed  to  her  that  without  having  moved  she  was 
somehow  nearer  to  his  breast.  She  couldn't  so  much  as 
glance  up  at  him.  She  could  hardly  speak.  The  words 
only  trembled  out  as  she  said,  "If  I  can,  Thor  dear." 

"You  can,"  he  said,  simply,  "because  you  know." 

She  barely  lifted  her  eyes.     "Oh,  do  you  think  I  do?" 

"You've  got  the  secret  of  it.  There  is  a  secret.  I  see 
that  now — a  secret,  just  as  there  is  to  everything  else 
that's  worth  learning." 

"Oh,  Thor,  you  make  me  afraid — " 

394 


THE    SIDE    OF    THE    ANGELS 

"Through  all  these  dreadful  months,"  he  pursued, 
tranquilly,  "you've  kept  us  straight,  and  led  us  out,  and 
raised  us  higher,  not  because  you're  specially  strong,  Lois, 
or  specially  wise,  but  because — because  you've  got  some 
other  quality.  I  want  you  to  show  me  what  it  is,  so  that 
I  may  have  it,  too.  If  I  could  get  it — get  just  a  little  of  it 
— it  would  seem  as  if  Claude  hadn't — hadn't  died  in 
vain."  She  was  now  so  near  his  breast  that  he  was 
obliged  to  bend  his  head  in  order  to  speak  down  to  her. 
"You  wrote  me  last  year  that  you  were  looking  for  a 
substitute  for  love.     Couldn't  you  find  it  in  that?" 

She  was  so  close  to  him  that  her  cheek  brushed  the  fur 
collar  of  his  coat,  yet  she  managed  to  keep  her  mind  clear 
and  to  control  her  voice  so  as  to  ask  the  thing  she  most 
vitally  needed  to  know.  "And  if  I  did,  Thor — if  I 
could — what  should  you  find  it  in?" 

"In  adoration — for  one  thing,"  he  said,  simply. 

It  was  such  happiness  that  she  tore  herself  away  from 
it.  Advancing  swiftly  over  the  light  snow  to  a  higher 
point  of  the  summit,  she  stood  for  a  minute  poised  alone 
against  the  dark  sky,  crowned  to  his  eyes  with  a  diadem 
of  stars.  Very  slowly  he  strode  after  her,  but  even  when 
he  reached  her  side  it  was  only  to  slip  his  hand  into  hers 
and  gaze  outward  with  her  into  the  far,  dim,  restful 
spaces. 

It  was  she  who  spoke  at  last,  timidly,  and  against 
rising  tears.     "Shall  we  go  home,  Thor?" 

"I'm  at  home,"  he  said,  quietly.  But  the  quietness 
gave  way  suddenly  to  fierceness,  as  little  lightning  flashes 
yield  in  a  few  seconds  to  the  violent  magnificence  of 
storm.  Seizing  her  in  his  arms  with  a  clasp  that  would 
have  been  brutal  if  it  had  not  been  so  sweet,  he  whispered, 
"You're  home  to  me,  Lois — you're  home  to  me." 

"And  you're  the  whole  wide  world  to  me,  Thor  dear," 
she  answered,  drawing  his  face  downward. 

THE  END 


SOUTHERN  ReSf!  Ca"'o"'» 
"05  Hilgard  Avenuf  P™*}  UBRARV  FACILITY 

*°W-*eWfiWABLE 

Jw  o  i  m5 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  1 1 1  344     8 


